


The Dust Chamber

by Rhoda_Writes



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Avengers: Infinity War Part 1 (Movie) Spoilers, Character Death Fix, Fire is fun, Fix-It of Sorts, Monsters, Multi, Post-Avengers: Infinity War Part 1 (Movie), Science Fiction, Survival Horror
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-05-05
Updated: 2019-02-24
Packaged: 2019-05-02 08:52:34
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 17
Words: 20,510
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14541138
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rhoda_Writes/pseuds/Rhoda_Writes
Summary: What happens after the dust settles? This is what I imagined. Heavily inspired by Silent Hill, but not quite set in that universe.Beta'd by MindYourMind.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> MASSIVE SPOILERS FOR INFINITY WAR INCLUDING THE POST-CREDITS SCENE. DO NOT READ IF YOU DON'T WANT TO BE SPOILED. NO NOT EVEN THE TAGS.

The sun tried to rise over a hazy, gray horizon. Fog, or smoke, or dust, hung thick in the air, choking the light as it drifted further upward. Dim shapes emerged out of the dark one after another: a wheelbarrow. The rusted skeleton of an old car. Long-empty roadside stands with peeling wooden signs advertising tinned peaches and homemade whisky. A few spiky patches of desert grass.

 

The chilly sunlight touched a small hill in the distance, a few miles down the dirt road. A few pointed rooftops clustered there--a village, maybe. And on the hill itself, a church with a graveyard. The strangest thing, the gritty vapor in the air seemed to be coming from the gravestones, rising off them like steam.

 

Bucky took two steps down the road before falling. He caught himself on his hands and knees. What was wrong with his legs? They felt too soft, like they weren’t all there. No, wait. He pushed himself up. Everything was there. He even had his new arm, the one Shuri had built for him. Before. . .

 

The face of his best friend swam in front of him. Steve had a beard now. When had that happened? He’d meant to ask, after everything calmed down again. But things were never calm for them, were they? The last thing he remembered was the flat white dread on Steve’s face, and then . . . this place. The dusty air and the pale, distant sun.

 

Where was he?

 

“Ste--” he coughed, and swallowed hard. His throat was too dry. “Steve!” He turned, scanning the barren landscape for any signs of life. There was a wood full of dead-looking trees behind him, all strangled with vines. In front of him was the road, with the church, and the village.

 

He called again: “Steve! Sam! Anyone?”

 

Then a voice he hadn’t expected found him.

 

“Barnes!”

 

Someone was coming through the trees, his face drawn and gray, but standing as regal and determined as he’d ever been. T’challa.

 

“Your Highness,” said Bucky. “What happened? Where’s Steve?”

 

“I don’t know,” said T’challa. “Not the one, or the other. But somehow I doubt we’ll meet him here. Have you seen anyone else?”

 

No doubt there was a list of names on the King’s mind, but Bucky didn’t blame him for not wanting to say them aloud. He shook his head. “Just you.”

 

T’challa put a hand to his forehead. “I woke up in the woods. There was no light, no sound. I thought at first I was still in Wakanda, on the battlefield. Then I thought I had gone to meet my father. But this place.” He spread his hands wide, taking in their bleak surroundings. “This is something else.”

 

The sun had crept its way to the tilting church steeple at the top of the hill. The days would move quickly here, if one could even call them days.

 

“You don’t want to find them, do you?” asked Bucky. “Because if they’re here, that means. . .”

 

T’challa raised his eyes to the horizon. “Whatever happens to my people, I am still their King. If any of them are here, I have to find them.” His words rang sincere, but his expression was distant. Empty.

 

Bucky nodded slowly. He understood. “I’ll help you look for them.”

 

They started down the road. There were no answers here. They had to keep moving.

 

Before they got far, a cloud of dust erupted from the church. Part of the roof had just caved in. Then, they heard screaming.

 

They looked at each other, and Bucky saw his own resolve reflected in the other man’s eyes. They ran for the church.

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wanda wakes up. Heartbroken. And mad as Hell.

When Wanda woke up, she was lying on a hard, flat surface covered in some kind of oily film. Her head felt stuffy. The air smelled like a campfire. She was outside.

 

For a while she just lay there, trying to get her bearings. She was afraid to open her eyes. She couldn’t remember much after watching Thanos turn time backward. She didn’t particularly want to. She knew what she’d see, and she wasn’t ready. Even though she’d seen it before, she couldn’t look. Not just yet.

 

A dry wind stirred her hair. Soft flakes fell on her cheeks, neck, and eyelashes. Like snow, only it wasn’t cold.

 

She sat up and forced herself to open her eyes. Dead grass, a wrought iron gate, and headstones came into focus. Behind her was a wooden church with half the doors and windows boarded. She was in a graveyard. She scrambled up off the slab she’d been lying on. Small, blackened pieces of dust kept swirling around her.

 

_Ashes_ , she realized. _They’re ashes._ She rubbed the residue between her fingers, watching the gray particles streak over her skin. It was the same substance that covered the slab she’d been lying on. Smoke poured out of it in thin ribbons, just where the letters of a name would be. She couldn’t read it.

 

_You know who it is though, don’t you?_ her conscience sneered. _You know where you are, and you know why._

 

She willed herself not to think of him, or to see his face in that last awful moment. Any second now, guilt would claw its way into her heart and bury everything else. She could practically hear it growling like some monster in a bad movie.

 

Actually, she _did_ hear something. A low rumble like an engine grinding to life a few meters away. A pair of eyes, red as fire, gleamed from behind one of the tombstones. It was about the size of a large dog, or a small bear, but its shape kept shifting, cascading like a concentrated piece of storm cloud as it moved closer. The pale sunlight filtered through it in sharp lines, creating the illusion of needle-like teeth where its mouth would be.

 

Well, whatever this creature was, it had picked on the wrong girl. Let grief eat her up some other day. For now, fate had handed her a monster to kill, and that was just fine. Wanda straightened her spine, squared her shoulders, and raised her hands into attack position.

 

Nothing happened.

 

Wanda sucked in a breath, and tried again. Still nothing. Her vision should have been swimming with red by now. Her rage was keen enough that it should’ve been easy--immediate. The swirling energy that was supposed to engulf her hands simply wasn’t there.

 

The growling, smoking creature drew closer.

 

“Shit.”

 

She turned and bolted for the church at the top of the hill. Her legs pumped and burned up the slope. The creature roared after her. Its hot breath blew her hair off her shoulders. Its teeth champed with a sound like crackling embers. Finally she reached the nearest door and squeezed past the cracks between the boards, just wide enough for her if she bent down almost double. She didn’t stop running until she was halfway down the sanctuary aisle.

 

A heavy thud, and the crack of unstable wood, told her the creature had thrown itself against the boards, but they held. It was too big to come through. It scratched at the planks, snuffling, and whining. Wanda breathed.

 

Then smoke began to seep in around the boards. It was billowy nothing at first, but then it reformed into the creature’s shape.

 

“No,” Wanda murmured. “That’s not fair.”

 

Before its eyes appeared again, she took off down one of the pews to an alcove along the side. Hopefully it hadn’t reinstalled it ears yet. She crouched with her back to the wall on the near side. It’s rattling breath returned. It was sniffing for her.

 

She squeezed her eyes shut. _Breathe, just breathe._ It was crackling its way up the aisle. If it turned its head at the right moment, it would see her. She risked a glance to the right. Ash rose up a few feet in front of the row where she’d turned to come in here. If she was quiet enough, she could sneak back outside.

 

She hated sneaking. She was an Avenger. She knew how to fight. But she’d never done it without her powers.

 

Forget sneaking back out. It wasn’t like she had anything more to lose. She grabbed a heavy candlestick from the alcove altar. Her heartbeat doubled when she emerged, but she didn’t stop.

 

“Hey!” she yelled. “I’m back here!”

 

The column of ash twitched to a standstill, then moved back towards her. Wanda trained her eyes on it, waiting. Her heartbeat thundered in her ears. Her palms were sweating around the candlestick. She wasn’t used to ranged weapons. The creature leaped over four pews at once, jaws wide. Wanda staggered backwards and raised up the candlestick. She swung, half-expecting it to go through the creature like smoke, but it didn’t. It connected. Smack in the thing’s ribcage. It shrieked, and tumbled over into the side of a pew.

 

It was reforming again, taking on a larger shape. Blades of sunlight shot through the broken boards over the windows, forming claws and spikes along its back. It seemed impossible that a thing made of smoke and shadows and sunbeams could hurt her, but Wanda wasn’t about to take the chance. She crept backward, knees bent, trying to get better grounded. She needed a bigger candlestick.

 

When it climbed back for her again, she swung hard. This time, it snatched up the candlestick in its teeth. Sparks few where it made contact, like striking flint. Wanda didn’t let go. She dug her heels in and leaned back with all her weight, trying to throw it off balance. But she wasn’t strong enough. It lifted her clear off the ground and flung her away, into the center aisle.

 

She rolled and came up disoriented but mostly unhurt. But her candlestick with gone. She got up and ran for the main altar. There was a candlestick the size of a flagpole up there. Maybe she could use it as a spear. She didn’t make it. The creature caught up to her and raked its claws over her back. It didn’t pierce skin, but the talons caught in the fabric of her jacket, yanking her backward. She screamed, kicking out, trying to keep contact with the tiled floor.

 

A crash exploded somewhere above them. Part of the roof was caving in. No--not caving. Someone had smashed through it. From where, Wanda had no idea, but even the monster was surprised enough to drop her. Wanda slipped out of her jacket and dove under a row of pews. She heard the metallic singing of a blade being drawn, followed by a fierce battle cry. The creature roared and smashed at the wooden pews, sending splinters everywhere, and dust crumbling into Wanda’s eyes. She coughed and scrambled back up for air.

 

Fighting the monster was a woman dressed all in black, with green skin and half-fuschia hair. She held two swords, whipping the blades through the air and carving slices into the creature that bled black smoke. The thing coiled back on its haunches and launched at her, but the woman was too quick. She flattened herself under it, sliding forward on her knees and raising her blades to meet its belly. It howled in agony.

 

The woman spun and called to Wanda over her shoulder: “The baptismal font--smash it!”

 

It took Wanda a few seconds to register what that meant. Then she saw it: a marble column near the altar, waist high, holding a basin full of greenish, stagnant water.

 

“Hurry!” yelled the green woman.

 

Wanda climbed the steps and approached the font. With her powers, she could have picked it up with her mind and sent it sailing straight through one of those windows, easy as breathing. But smash it? With her bare hands?

 

A sharp clang sounded in the aisle. The woman had pinned the monster through the middle with one of her swords, and held the other poised at its throat. She was straddling two pews to hold her position, but she was wobbling and panting from the effort. She looked up at Wanda.

 

“Push it this way,” she ordered. “I can’t hold it like this for long.”

 

Wanda got behind the font. The basin was a separate piece from the column beneath it. She braced her hands behind it and shoved. Her feet slid backwards on the slick tile floor. Her rings, pinched between the basin and her skin, bit into her fingers painfully. Christ, she’d forgotten how heavy things were without magic. She gritted her teeth, put her head down, and gave the basin a final push.

 

It fell away all at once. Wanda fell to her knees as it crashed down the steps and cracked apart. The fetid water inside sloshed out and down the aisle, just where the monster was waiting. It scrabbled wildly over the floor, trying to escape, but the woman jammed her second blade into its back. When the water made contact, it hissed with a sound like a tea kettle going off--a high-pitched scream. Smoke bubbled down to molten tar, and shards of tooth and nail shattered into splinters. A rotten, rubbery smell, like old tires burning, rose up in nauseating coils, until there was nothing left but a smear of black grease over the floor.

 

The woman jumped down from her pew, sheathed both swords into a harness across her back, then walked calmly up the steps to help Wanda to her feet.

 

“Next time, don’t hesitate,” she scolded.

 

Wanda bristled, but didn’t argue. “What was that thing?” she asked, eying the stain a few feet away.

 

“Alone. The next one won’t be.” The woman started towards the door. “Come on. It’s not safe here.”

 

“Wait, wait.” Wanda put a hand on the other woman’s arm, holding her back.

 

The woman gave her a look of capital annoyance. She didn’t have time for this, clearly.

 

“Thank you,” said Wanda. Then she held out her hand. “I’m Wanda Maximoff.”

 

The woman blinked. Some of the tension in her face softened. She nodded curtly and took Wanda’s hand. “Gamora.”

 

#

 


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Introducing a few more characters. Heimdall and Loki try to map their surroundings. Peter Parker wakes up, and takes out his fear and anger on the first person he meets . . . which happens to be Peter Quill.

The lighthouse by the lake had the best vantage point. From its tower, Heimdall could see the village square, the church on the hill, the graveyard, the dusty road, and the woods. The lake itself was surrounded by a grayish fog, broken only by a ghostly, decaying pier. A few miles along the shoreline was a derelict farmhouse. Beyond that, there was nothing.

 

Loki was waiting for him when he descended to the sandy beach. “Anything?” he asked.

 

“Very little,” said Heimdall. “This is a small world. I can’t see past its boundaries. Wherever we are, we’re cut off from the rest of the universe. We’re alone.”

 

And they were. Along with the lady, Gamora, Loki and Heimdall had been trapped here for four days. By Heimdall’s reckoning, the cycle of sunup and sundown counted for half the same time on Asgard. The days passed quickly.

 

Loki sighed. “Well, it’s not Valhalla, otherwise I wouldn’t be here. And it can’t be the Underworld, otherwise _you_ wouldn’t be here.”

 

Heimdall raised his eyebrows. “That is suspiciously close to a compliment.”

 

“Oh, please. We’ve had our disagreements in the past, Heimdall, but there’s no use pretending now. I know what I am.”

 

“Do you?” Heimdall put a hand on the Prince’s shoulder and turned him to face him. “I saw what you did on the ship. You died with honor, Loki. You saved our King.”

 

“But at what cost?” Loki shrugged him away. “If any of our people survived, how will he even find them again?”

 

“The Valkyrie will look after them. Stop tormenting yourself like this. What’s done is done.”

 

Heimdall wasn’t sure why he was trying to comfort the Prince. He had known Loki since he was a boy. A fierce-eyed child with a strong will and a thirst for glory. Not in the same way as his brother, of course, but the drive had always been there. Where Thor was brazen and impulsive, Loki was calculating and patient. A thousand tricky plans and disreputable plots were constantly spinning in his mind, masked by his serene appearance. But now, all that was gone. All Heimdall saw in Loki was regret. Perhaps it was because Loki was so conniving, so clever, he had never once succumbed to despair. Heimdall needed him to start conniving again. If even Loki couldn’t figure how to lie, cheat, or kill his way out of this gray limbo, they really were lost.

 

Suddenly, a flicker of movement caught Heimdall’s attention. Bright spots of light had appeared in the village, then more in the graveyard, and the forest. Souls. Their tiny world was filling with Souls.

 

“What is it?” asked Loki, watching him.

 

“We have company.”

 

#

 

_It’s a dream. Just a bad dream, that’s all. You blacked out when you broke through Earth’s atmosphere, and you’re having a bad dream. Come on, wake up. Wake up!_

 

Peter Parker opened his eyes.

 

But he wasn’t in mid-air hurtling back towards the city. He wasn’t in a hospital bed, or back home at Aunt May’s apartment. It was too dirty for one thing. There was a bed, but no mattress--it was just a box of rusty-looking coils. There was a window, but it was covered in grime and dust too thick to see outside. The plain, dingy wallpaper was peeling, and the bits that were still attached were charred and crispy on the edges.

 

Where _was_ he? Was he still dreaming?

 

Peter sat curled up on a moth-eaten armchair in the corner of the room, too faded to tell what color it was supposed to be. He unfurled himself, then winced as his back, neck, hips, and shoulders all screamed out in protest at once.

 

“Ow!” he whimpered, rubbing his knuckles into the back of his neck. He felt like he’d been crammed in a suitcase for days, like that Yen guy in that movie--What was it called?-- _Ocean’s 11._

 

Okay, so he wasn’t dreaming. You couldn’t get cramped up like this in a dream. At least he didn’t think so. He stood, stretched, and reached for his phone to check the time. Maybe the date, too. He had no idea how long he’d been out of it.

 

Wait a minute. Where was his phone?

 

And, oh shit--where was his _suit_?

 

“No no no no--not good. That’s not good!”

 

He dug through every pocket on him, scrabbled under the skeletal bed, and flipped the cushions out of the armchair. He turned up nothing but lint and his bus pass, of all things. He had _nothing_. He didn’t want to be one of those guys who absolutely could not deal without his phone, but he _needed_ it! How was he supposed to call Aunt May? She was probably worried sick about him. Mr. Stark, too. In fact, Peter would probably have to come up with a way to explain how he’d lost another suit.

 

That was when he noticed the faint, acrid smell of burning. Peter wasn’t sure why he hadn’t picked it up before, but now that he had, it was everywhere. That was the last thing he remembered from his dream: smoke in the air, and ashes in his mouth. Was it possible to smell and taste that stuff in a dream?

 

Peter went still. The room started to tilt sideways. He snatched at the windowsill to keep himself from tilting with it. His heart was going way too fast. He felt itchy and nauseous. He shut his eyes.

 

“Wake up, Peter. Please, please wake up.”

 

He opened his eyes, but nothing had changed. He took a deep breath and let it out slowly. He held his hands out in front of him. All skin. No crumbly gray stuff. He touched his chest and stomach, ran his hands through his hair. Everything was there. He covered his face with both hands.

 

“Okay,” he muttered. “You’re okay.”

 

_You’re not_ , said a small but insistent voice in his mind. _Where do you think you are, Peter?_

 

He had to get out of this room. He stumbled for the door, then started running.

 

The door led to a narrow hallway with the same singed wallpaper, and half a dozen identical doors, ending in a short staircase. The banister was broken but Peter barely noticed it. He took the stairs three at a time, passed a threadbare carpet, and crashed through a front door already halfway open. A sign at the end of the overgrown walkway identified the building as the “Climbing Rose Inn.” There was a barber shop across the street, and a post office next door. An antique shop, an ice cream parlor, a lending library, a butcher. Up the road a block or two was a dried up fountain inside a traffic circle. Everything was closed, boarded up, broken down, and empty. The air swirled with ashes falling like snow.

 

Someone was by the fountain. It took Peter all of five seconds to recognize Quill’s jacket, and then his face, with his stupid beard. Peter was marching towards the fountain before he fully understood what he meant to do. Too much information was piling up on him. Maybe he only meant to catch up to Quill, but then the other man had to start talking.

 

“Hey,” said Quill, drawing out the word in surprise and sympathy. “You too, huh? Man, that sucks. You’re just a kid.” Was there the faintest glimmer of sorrow in his face?

 

Peter didn’t care. He shoved Quill with all the strength and fury he possessed. Quill only stumbled backwards, so Peter shoved him again.

 

“Bastard!” Peter yelled. “We had him! We _had_ him! You ruined everything!”

 

“Whoa--what the Hell?”

 

Peter was throwing punches now. Quill put his arms up to block him.

 

“It was _your_ idea-- _your_ plan! Why did you do that, huh?”

 

Other voices were filtering in around them now. Quill went down.

 

Peter could barely see. His vision had gone blurry with tears. But still, he went after him.

 

“What were you thinking?” he screamed, his voice cracking. “It was working! We could have done it!”

 

“Chill out, Jesus!” said Quill. “What are you talking about?”

 

Peter almost laughed. “What am I talking about? Look around! Don’t you get it? We’re dead--they’re all dead! All because of you.”

 

He tried to get another hit in, but someone was pulling him back.

 

“Stop,” said a low voice. “Stop it, Peter. This isn’t you.”

 

His fists still clenched, his breath coming in ragged sobs now, Peter let himself be steered towards one of the benches beside the fountain. Whoever the man at his side was, he was right. This wasn’t him. He didn’t hurt people, not like this. He pulled his knees up to his chest and dropped his forehead onto them until he could breathe again.

 

A hand stayed at his shoulder.

 

“It’s all right, Peter,” he was saying. “You’re gonna be all right.”

 

“How can you say that? You saw what happened.” Peter scrubbed at his face with a sleeve. “After everything we did, he won. All those people. . .”

 

A sigh, and then a shift of weight beside him as the man sat down. “I know. I’m sorry. If you want to hit me too, I won’t stop you.”

 

Peter looked up. It was the wizard. He looked different though. No cape, no Time Stone, and his hair was all dusty.

 

“I’ve seen this before,” he said.

 

“What?” asked Peter. “You knew this would happen? How?”

 

The two others who had appeared while Peter was attacking Quill drifted towards them, one of them a tall, bald guy with an eyepatch.

 

Oh, no way. That was Nick Fury!

 

Peter rapidly rubbed away the rest of his tears. God, he was a mess. He couldn’t let the old leader of SHIELD see him like this.

 

But Fury wasn’t even looking at him. He approached them slowly, hands on hips, his good eye fixed on Dr. Strange.

 

“I second that ‘How?’” he said in a level, demanding voice. “If there’s something you’d like to share with the rest of the class, Doctor, now’s the time.”

 

“I saw over fourteen billion possible futures,” said Dr. Strange. “Only one with a positive outcome. I know it doesn’t seem like it right now, but trust me: this is exactly where we need to be.”

 


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The gang's all here, but night is coming, and so are the monsters.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, I have comments! Thanks guys! I love comments! I hope people are enjoying this story, even if you just lurk here. Cheers!

Two figures moved quickly up the dirt road to the church. Wanda dropped behind one of the headstones, thinking they might be more of those smoke creatures.

 

But Gamora said, “Wait.” She moved further down the path, shielding her eyes from the sun. It had already peaked in the sky, as if it was midday. “I don’t think they’re hounds.”

 

Wanda followed her hesitantly until one of the figures called her name. His voice was familiar. The gleam of metal on his left arm filled in the rest. She broke into a run to meet him.

 

“Are you all right?” asked Bucky. “We heard screaming.”

 

She flung her arms around his neck. He seemed surprised at first, but then he hugged her back. It surprised her too, how glad she was to see him. Maybe it was just the sight of a familiar face in this awful place. Maybe it was knowing how much time he’d lost being a pawn of Hydra, the same as her. Of course if Bucky was here, that meant he hadn’t survived either.

 

“I’m so sorry,” she whispered into his shoulder. “I tried.”

 

Bucky just held her. “You have nothing to be sorry for, _lisichka_ ,” he said.

 

The nickname threw her. She’d forgotten he called her that, back at that airport hanger what felt like a lifetime ago. It took her another moment to register that he’d said the whole thing in Russian. She held him tighter.

 

“There was a fire elemental,” Gamora was saying. “A graveyard hound. They come out of the smoke, from the gravestones. We took care of it, but there will be more of them, so we should keep moving.”

 

With some reluctance, Wanda stepped out of the embrace, and they followed Gamora down the road to the village. As they went, the sun kept creeping across the sky.

 

“The days must be shorter here,” said T’Challa.

 

“About twelve hours altogether,” said Gamora. “We need to get somewhere safe by nightfall.”

 

“You seem like you’re more familiar with this place than any of us. Where are we?”

 

Gamora took a deep breath. “Before I answer that, I need to ask you something. I’m sorry to put you through this, but: How did you die?”

 

T’Challa nodded. “Dust and ashes,” he said. “It felt as if a match had been struck inside my chest. The pain was . . . terrible. But over quickly.”

 

“Yeah,” said Bucky. “That’s what happened to me, too.”

 

“And me,” said Wanda. Although truthfully, she barely remembered her own death. Her whole body had been burning already, from the energy it took to hold Thanos back and crack open the Mind Stone at the same time. It wasn’t until her hands fell apart, the same hands clinging to Vision, that she understood what was happening.

 

Gamora shook her head. “I knew it. He’s killed us all.”

 

“We’re in Hell,” said Wanda. “Aren’t we?”

 

Gamora paused, then kept walking. “No. Not exactly. We’re between places. It’s more like a train station where the trains don’t stop anymore. At least if it’s what I think it is.”

 

When they reached the village, a handful of others had already gathered. Wanda recognized some of them from pictures, but not all.

 

“What’s Fury doing here?” asked Bucky in a low voice. “I thought I. . . I mean, I thought he was already dead.”

 

“Steve Rogers didn’t tell you?” said T’Challa. “I am sorry, my friend. But no, he was hidden away, not long before you were. Don’t take on more blood than you’ve earned.”

 

“Friends of yours?” asked Gamora.

 

Wanda leaned closer to her and started pointing them out. “The one yelling is Nick Fury. He was head of SHIELD before it disbanded. Maria Hill is the woman helping that man on the ground, next to the fountain. She works for him, mostly undercover I think.” She looked further down the road, where two more figures were approaching. “I haven’t met him before, but I think that’s Loki--Thor’s brother.”

 

“Mm. Him I’ve heard of. And the man with him?”

 

Wanda shook her head. “I don’t know. Another Asgardian, maybe. The others I don’t know.”

 

As they got closer, bits of their conversation took shape. Fury was talking heatedly to a tall man seated on a stone bench near the fountain. Beside them was a boy, he couldn’t have been more than sixteen. He looked dazed, as if he couldn’t focus on what was in front of him.

 

Wanda didn’t blame him. She wondered what he’d lost, and how much he remembered.

 

“If I say too much, it could change everything,” said the man on the bench. “I can’t take that risk.”

 

“But letting all of us, and God knows how many more, get dusted--that’s a risk you _could_ take?” asked Fury. “Who put you in charge?”

 

The man on the ground got to his feet shakily, brushing off Hill’s attempts to steady him. He gaze wandered until he found Gamora. Then he froze. He stared up at her with something close to reverence. “Gamora?” he asked.

 

The others quieted.

 

“Do you know him?” asked Wanda.

 

Gamora had stopped in her tracks. She clapped both hands over her mouth, her eyes filling with tears. The world seemed to halt and shift around the moment their eyes met. They went towards each other like magnets. The man touched her face, as if making sure she was solid, and then kissed her soundly.

 

The moment made Wanda sick with envy. Why wasn’t Vision here? If Gamora could have her sweetheart back, why couldn’t she?

 

When they parted, the man said, “I hope this doesn’t sound awkward, considering the situation, but it’s really good to see you.”

 

“Oh, Peter,” said Gamora, her tone somewhere between exasperated and affectionate. “It’s good to see you too.”

 

“As touching as this is,” said Loki, “I suggest we belay all tearful reunions until we can get elsewhere. It’s not safe in the open.” He glanced warily at the sky, which was already turning the faint coral of an early sunset.

 

Fury raised his one visible eyebrow. “Well, well. Looks like the ant finally met his boot.”

 

Loki grimaced. “Pleasure as always, Fury. It’s a shame we have to keep meeting under such hideous circumstances. I’m sure you have a few things you’d like to say--”

 

“Oh, I have more than a few things I’d still like to say to you, but we have bigger problems right now.”

 

“He’s right,” said Gamora. She pulled away from Peter just enough to slide her hand into his. “We have to move. There’s only one building here big enough to fit all of us with good enough visibility to be defensible.”

 

“What do you mean defensible?” asked Hill.

 

“She means night’s coming,” said the other Asgardian. “And that’s when the monsters come.”

 

Wanda thought of the creature at the church. Somehow, she had a feeling these new ‘monsters’ would be worse.

 


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Night falls, and the monsters roll in. WARNING: This chapter has spiders. Big ones. Lots of them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow, okay, this story officially has more hits and bookmarks than anything I've uploaded here before. No pressure, Rhoda! *gulp* And thanks, guys!
> 
> On a personal note, I'm taking Mom to see Infinity War tomorrow. Not sure whether she'll thank me or hate me for it, but fingers crossed!

The proposed “safe” place was a bowling alley fifteen minutes’ walk from the fountain. A squat, plain building with a crumbling parking lot skirted by clutches of dead grass. It didn’t look inviting, but Gamora said it had food, water, a patchy but functioning power generator, and a heavy steel security door. It also had stairs going up to the roof.

 

Only one way in, plenty of visibility on all sides. Bucky could see why Gamora had called it “defensible.” He climbed the stairs to the roof along with Loki and T’Challa to wait for the sunset.

 

“Mind telling us what we’re up against?” he asked the Asgardian.

 

Loki walked to the edge of the roof. The sky was a deep, bruised violet. No stars, no moon. Just dark. The closest shop from the village square was just visible in the oncoming gloom. The height was perfect, but the light was impossible.

 

“I don’t know what to call them,” said Loki. “They come in so many shapes. Some with wings, some like great serpents, some with more teeth and eyes than I could count. And here’s a fun twist: you can’t kill them. You can only beat them back for a while.”

 

“Gamora killed one,” said T’Challa.

 

Loki looked back at him with a frown.

 

“At the church. A graveyard hound, she called it.”

 

“No,” Loki shook his head. “The hounds are different. They’re made of fire, so you can destroy them with water. These are made of shadows.”

 

T’Challa peered into the distance, arms folded behind his back. In Wakandan, he said, “What do you think? Do you trust him?”

 

It  took Bucky a moment to realize T’Challa was talking to him. In the same tongue, he answered, “I’m not sure. He’s known as a liar, but it looks like we don’t have much choice.”

 

“Agreed. After all, he suffered the same fate we did.”

 

Loki sighed and pulled out a pair of blue-bladed knives. “Believe me or don’t, I don’t care. Just stay out of my way when they start attacking.”

 

Bucky looked at T’Challa, and saw his own startled expression reflected in the King’s face.

 

“You speak Wakandan?” asked T’Challa.

 

“No,” said Loki. “No need. It’s what they’re all thinking, isn’t it? ‘Can Loki be trusted?’”

 

A lone streetlamp hissed to life in the parking lot. A sickly circle of yellow light illuminated the asphalt below. It wouldn’t be long now.

 

T’Challa moved to the back wall of the building, looked over the edge at the blackness beyond. Coming to some internal decision, he nodded. “I’ll cover this side,” he said. “Barnes, you take that lower edge by the trees.” He turned to Loki. “Whatever you have done is in the past, Prince of Asgard. We have to survive this night together.”

 

Loki stared at him. He looked like he wanted to say something else, his mouth hanging half-open, and his eyes wide with genuine surprise.

 

Before he could, Bucky walked to the spot T’Challa had indicated for him, and pumped a round into his machine gun. “So,” he said. “How do we beat these things back?”

 

#

 

“Only sunlight gets rid of them,” said Heimdall, addressing the team assembled on the ground. “But they don’t like any kind of light, and they can be wounded. It will slow them down enough for us to hold the line.”

 

Wanda, Peter, and Dr. Strange had gone inside to check the security gate and make sure all the electrical circuits were working. That left Gamora, Hill, Quill, and Fury circling the building from the ground.

 

“Why aren’t we just taking cover?” asked Hill. “You said there’s plenty of room for us inside. And I only have two clips on me.”

 

“Because they’ll tear the place to pieces if we don’t defend it,” said Gamora. “And we can’t lose our only food source.” She slid open the door of a white van parked under the streetlight. It was the only car in the lot. And it was crammed with weapons. “Take what you need to reload. We’ve been stashing supplies whenever we find them, but it won’t last forever.”

 

After they had helped themselves to the makeshift armory, the streetlight dimmed. Night had fallen. The shadows at the edge of of the parking lot churned and boiled. Pieces of brick wall seemed to tear themselves down in chunks. Signs creaked and strained against their rusted hinges. Everything beyond the fountain square disappeared, swallowed by the thick, malignant darkness.

 

Gamora reached inside the driver’s side of the van, cutting on the headlights. Then she tossed Quill one of her swords. “Stay close to me,” she said.

 

“No problem,” said Quill.

 

Heimdall drew his sword. “Here they come.”

 

At first, the shadows were small and indistinct. Up on the roof, Bucky could just barely make out the silhouette of something flying towards them against the deep indigo sky. It seemed no larger than his fist. Then it exploded like a ghastly flower, pinwheeling toward the roof at incredible speed.

 

Bucky took aim, and fired.

 

The thing shattered, all the pieces spinning in different directions.

 

“Barnes, behind you!”

 

He heard T’Challa’s warning in time to see another of the spinning creatures inches from his face. This close, he could see lethal spikes surrounding it like spokes on a wheel. It angled towards him to strike.

 

It exploded into pieces just like the first one, and Loki’s knife clattered to the roof beneath it. Loki dove to retrieve it and was swiping at a third of the things before Bucky could even thank him.

 

On the ground, clumps of shadow smacked glob-like onto the pavement and began to mutate. Long, needle-sharp legs--two, then four, then eight--sprouted out of the muck, lifting up the heavy bodies in the middle.

 

“Oh _Hell_ no!” hollered Fury. “I _hate_ spiders!” He shot down four in quick succession before reloading.

 

“Would you rather deal with the Catherine Wheels on the roof?” asked Gamora, slashing at the skittering creatures with her sword.

 

Fury glared at her. “You know what? I might!”

 

They kept fighting. And more kept coming. Floating vines that reached out and tried to wrap around their weapons and limbs. Spiders big as softballs and bigger. Wide, slow, flapping things that moaned as they moved, nothing but great wings carrying a hideously human-looking arm that grabbed and snatched whatever it passed. And above everything, the exploding Catherine Wheels. Every piece they severed, shot, or burned rolled back into the dark to reform into a new monster, and then it came back for them again.

 

“Why are there so many?” shouted Hill, shooting, reloading, and shooting again.

 

A vine creature on the roof coiled itself around Bucky’s metal arm. He slammed it into the concrete where it disintegrated, then he stomped down the pieces as they shivered away.

 

T’Challa snagged one of the Catherine Wheels out of the sky in his claws and hurled it down towards a thicket of the spiders. The mass exploded into black jelly, then rolled away beyond their sight to reform into something else.

 

Gamora, Heimdall, and even Quill were holding up pretty well with their swords. Quill seemed intent on sticking to Gamora’s side no matter what came at them. Hill and Fury hadn’t run out of ammo yet, but they both knew they couldn’t use up everything they had on one fight. In any case, Fury channeled his distaste for the spiders into shooting as many as he could.

 

Loki made his blades dance and flash, but they were shorter than the swords the others carried. He couldn’t land a decent blow without getting close, and unlike T’Challa’s, his armor didn’t cover him completely.

 

One of the moaners reached for him as he was finishing off a spider that had climbed its way up the wall. It seized him by the throat, lifting him four feet into the air before Bucky shot through one of its wings and made it drop him. Loki crashed to his knees. He stayed there, stunned, staring at the creature still flapping on the roof. Bucky grabbed it by its broken wing, flung it into the sky, and shot it before it reached the ground.

 

“You all right?” Bucky asked.

 

Loki didn’t answer. He just pushed himself up, and kept fighting.

 

It went on for hours, until the sky finally lightened to a hazy gray. The monsters didn’t disappear, but they slowed, melted back into the shadows beyond the parking lot, and retreated to a relatively safe distance.

 

“Christ,” gasped Hill, tossing an empty clip aside and collapsing against the side of the van. “Do we have to do this every night?”

 

Heimdall touched the side of the building. A long gash ran up the wall that had not been there before. “That was a lot. More than we’ve seen so far.”

 

“More of us, more of them,” Fury suggested. “We’re more of a threat now.”

 

“A threat to what?” asked Quill. “There’s nothing here even worth stealing.”

 

After they swept away the last of the mess, and cleaned and stashed their weapons, Heimdall walked into the line of the sight of the rooftop. He called up, “Any damage?”

 

Loki was sitting on his knees. He’d stripped off his armor, all of it, down to the plain green tunic underneath, and stared uneasily into the middle distance, rubbing at his throat.

 

“Loki.”

 

His eyes flashed down to Heimdall. “No,” he said. “No damage.”

 

“Good,” said Heimdall. “I’ll take the first watch today. Go inside with the others.”

 

Loki nodded. The ground team began to trickle inside, but Bucky and T’Challa stayed, waiting for him. He didn’t appear to notice.

 

T’Challa approached his kneeling form. “You’re hurt,” he said. No accusation, just a statement.

 

“I’m fine,” Loki muttered.

 

“Are you? What happened when that thing touched you?” T’Challa drew closer and reached for him, but Loki shied away. He stood quickly and made a show of gathering up his daggers and armor into a bundle.

 

“I said I’m fine,” he insisted, and marched back to the stairwell.

 

T’Challa frowned. “Watch him,” he told Bucky.

 

The other man nodded, and they followed him inside.

 

 


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> My three faves bond over how much the vodka in the Bad Place sucks. Yep, that's pretty much what's happening in this chapter.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi! This story appears to have broken 1,000 hits and I don't know what to do with that. That's never happened to me before. Just, thanks!
> 
> Also: Formatting a little differently so there's not so much space between paragraphs.

“There had better be a bar in here.”

Those were Fury’s first words when the ground team moved back inside.

And there was. Not fully stocked, but it was there, midway between the bowling lanes and the front door, along with a smallish dining area. Stacked up next to the booze were a few sealed bags of snacks and candy. A tiny kitchen peeked out from behind a swinging steel door, probably not designed for anything more complicated than chicken wings and nachos, but the generator had kept the fridge running.

There was also an open locker area down to the left, to rent out those hideous shoes. Behind that, restrooms, although one was caved in. And behind that, a small, closed-off mini-golf course.

The trio who had stayed inside had been exploring. Peter found some strobe lights in the rafters. If they still worked, he said, he could rig them to stay on without flashing and hang them up outside, to give them a wider radius of visibility.

Wanda admired his drive. Or maybe it was just his need to keep busy after everything they had gone through. She understood that well enough.

She and the Doctor had taken to cleaning and rearranging what they could, trying to clear out enough mess for people to actually sit, eat, and rest now that there were so many of them. He had lost his powers too. Wanda wasn’t sure what he did, but Peter called him a “wizard.” Whatever that meant. She suspected he was no more a “wizard” than Wanda was a “witch.” The bottom line was they both felt functionally useless in a fight without their abilities.

Maybe Gamora could teach her something about hand-to-hand combat.

Meanwhile, the others were coming to the spaces that Wanda and the Doctor had made hospitable. They looked grimy and exhausted. A few looked her way, with curt nods, or just flickers of recognition. Probably they resented her not joining in. She didn’t need her telepathy to see that. What had happened to the infamous Scarlet Witch, former war criminal, and weapon of mass destruction? Nobody said so aloud. They didn’t need to. That beast of guilt was starting to snarl.

When Gamora came in with Quill and claimed one of the still standing tables, Wanda headed their way to ask about training herself again. Peter got there first.

“Hi, um. Mr. Quill?”

Quill, clearly unaccustomed to being addressed this way, glanced behind him as if to see if Peter was looking for someone else. He cleared his throat gruffly. “Yeah?” he said.

“Listen, I am so sorry. I shouldn’t have said those things. I didn’t mean it, I swear. It’s just, I was upset, and so much has been happening--” He broke off, frustrated, knotting his fingers together. “What happened wasn’t your fault. It wasn’t anyone’s fault.”

“Please--no hard feelings,” said Quill. “And I’m fine by the way. I’ve taken worse beatings than that before.”

“It’s true,” chimed Gamora. “Everyone who meets this guy tries to kill him at least once.”

“Oh. I. . . Really?” Peter seemed unsure whether he was supposed to laugh.

“That is _not_ true,” Quill protested.

Gamora raised an eyebrow.

“Okay, it’s a _little_ bit true.”

“So,” said Peter. “Are we cool, or. . .?”

Quill reached up to slap his hand into Peter’s. “Sure, we’re cool.”

Wanda lost the thread of their conversation after that. More were raiding the snack bar and taking seats. Fury poured drinks for himself and Hill, who had taken one of the longer tables to clean her guns. Dr. Strange joined Peter, Gamora, and Quill at their table. Loki grabbed an entire bottle of what looked like cheap vodka and snarled at anyone who tried to sit with him. Heimdall had gone upstairs to keep watch, and T’Challa sat with the former SHIELD members, introducing himself as calmly as if they hadn’t just been battling monsters outside.

So many dead, but somehow, so few of the people she’d known before. These were mostly strangers. Wanda had never been good at making friends. That was always Pietro. He was the one who inserted himself into ongoing conversations and was exchanging phone numbers by the end of the night. He was the one people flocked to for company and comfort. If Steve were here, he would’ve done something to make Wanda feel welcome. Or Clint, or Natasha. And Vision was. . . Well, he wasn’t here, in any case. It was useless to wonder what would be different, if he had come to this nightmare world too.

“Need a drink?” said a voice at her ear.

Wanda breathed, “Yes,” and turned to face him. Again, she was caught off-guard by how much Bucky’s presence calmed her. If he noticed, he didn’t say so. He just smiled and waved her over to the one of the tables.

Oh, no. Wait. He was taking them to Loki’s table. What was he thinking?

“Please, don’t sit,” hissed the Asgardian. “I’m not in the mood for company.”

But Bucky ignored him. He set two glass tumblers on the table. He righted a chair and sat down without a word. Then he took the vodka bottle in his metal hand, and poured. The whole time, Loki just watched him, somewhere between fascinated and annoyed. One glass Bucky slid across the table to Loki, the other he handed to Wanda.

“Where’s yours, then?” Loki asked.

In response, Bucky raised the bottle straight to his lips and tipped it back. He swallowed, made a face, and sputtered, “Well, that’s disgusting.”

Wanda took a swig gingerly. He was right. It tasted like disinfectant gone slightly rancid. “Disgusting is too kind,” she said. “This stuff is an insult to vodka.”

“Do you feel insulted?” asked Loki.

“Are you kidding? I’m Russian. Of course I’m insulted.”

Loki sipped his drink, then moaned with disappointment. “What I wouldn’t give for a flagon of proper Asgardian mead right now.”

“Y’know,” said Bucky, inspecting the label-free bottle, “the whole time I was in Siberia, I never once got to try any decent vodka. Not that I would’ve appreciated it.”

His words hung over the table like ice. Sharp, precarious, fragile. It was the most Wanda had heard him say at one time. She wondered if he remembered any of it. If only she had her powers, she could have gone into his mind, pulled out the sharpest pieces, and crushed them, so they couldn’t hurt him anymore.

“I’ll find a better one next time,” said Loki.

“No,” said Wanda. “ _I’ll_ find a better one next time. You clearly don’t know your spirits.”

Before he could get offended, Gamora stood up and began addressing the entire group. “We have about eight hours before nightfall comes again,” she said. “So I think we need a better plan to hold them back.”

“No kidding,” Fury agreed. “Another round like that, and we’ll have nothing left.”

“Which is why we need to go into the village for supplies as soon as possible. And since there are so many of us now, we should split up to cover more ground.”

“Is this even everyone?” asked Hill. “You, Loki, and Heimdall were here for days before we arrived. What are the chances we’ll get more company?”

Another, darker question hovered behind the one she’d said aloud: if their friends and comrades in arms weren’t here, were they still alive?

“I don’t know,” said Gamora. “We’ll just have to keep an eye out. Fill in anyone else when we find them. But honestly, I have a feeling we’re it.”


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Gamora explains why I named this story "The Dust Chamber." Also, Agent Hill gets a covert assignment.
> 
> WARNING if anyone needs it: excessive drinking.

They decided to send a small group into the village to stock up on whatever they could find. The rest would guard the bowling alley and help Peter on his project with the floodlights. Gamora wanted to stay put this time. For one thing, she was tired of exploring. There didn’t seem to be much point. Not when there was no hope for escape or rescue. Mostly though, she wanted to stay with Quill. She had missed him more than she dared admit out loud, and they had a lot of time to make up for.

Still, T’Challa stubbornly believed they could find an exit.

“I’d like to see the boundaries of this place a little closer,” he said. “Explore what’s beyond that lake.”

“There’s a boat tied up at that wreck of a pier,” Loki told him. “I’ve no idea if it’s sea-worthy, but it’s something.”

T’Challa nodded. “Good. No world is limitless. There is a way in, so there must be a way out.”

“Okay,” said Quill slowly. “But the way in was dying. I’m not into doing that again.”

“You can’t die twice, Quill,” said Dr. Strange.

“I did,” interjected Loki, draining more of the cheap booze.

“You’re a god, you don’t count,” said Fury.

Loki smirked. “I’m going to remember you said that.”

“Guys, can we please focus here?” said Gamora, raising her voice. They all snapped to attention. “T’Challa’s right. There might be a way out. Maybe not a way back home, but. . . Listen, I think I know where we are.”

A hush fell over the room. They were all listening intently. Only Quill seemed unaffected. After all, he already knew her secret.

“You have to tell them,” he said.

She nodded, but pursed her lips, knuckles clenched against the surface of the table.

“Tell us what?” asked Dr. Strange.

Gamora took a deep breath and, eyes shut, said, “I’m a daughter of Thanos.”

The silence intensified, now electric with tension. Any minute now, the shouting would start. Pleas, insults, and accusations. She’d heard them all before, usually filtered through whatever gruesome assignment Thanos had put before her. She could still see the faces of everyone she’d killed in his name.

But nothing came. They just kept listening. Gamora held her head low so that her hair half-covered her face. “When I was a child,” she said, “He talked about these in-between realms, these ‘chambers.’ When people die, he said they go somewhere beyond the universe. But when they vanish, when they turn to dust, they go somewhere else. A dust chamber. That’s where we are.” She shook her head. “I’d forgotten about that until we all woke up here. I wasn’t even thinking about it when he took me to get the Soul Stone. He tortured my sister to make me tell him where to find it. And when we got there, he. . .”

That was all. She couldn’t go any further. She wouldn’t. Quill’s hand clutched hers, and she squeezed it gratefully.

“You’re not like the others though,” said a small voice--the kid, the other Peter. “You weren’t loyal to him. He wouldn’t have done that to you if you were.”

Gamora gave him a tight, humorless smile. “You didn’t know him like I did. But you’re right. I’m not like the others. They would’ve laid down their lives and thanked him for asking.”

Across the room, Loki muttered something under his breath.

“What was that?” asked Gamora sharply.

He grimaced through another swallow of the subpar liquor, and said, “I said, I should have let it burn.”

“Excuse me, let _what_ burn, exactly?” asked Fury.

“What do you think? The Space Stone. The Tesseract. I should have left it to perish with the rest of Asgard.”

Then the shouting started. Too many questions hurtled through the air at once. Asgard was destroyed? How? Why did Loki take the Tesseract in the first place? What happened to the rest of the survivors from his world? Was Thor still alive?

Only one voice cut through the noise: “The Space Stone wasn’t the only one he was after,” said Wanda.

“Certainly not,” Loki agreed. “But he came for me first. Just as he promised he would.” He lifted his glass again, then put it down with a shaking hand. “I could have prevented all this.”

Gamora tried to imagine what he was going through. This was Thor’s brother, the one he’d talked about, who Thanos had murdered in front of him. The same villain who had tried to steal the Tesseract from Earth all those years ago, and failed.

“You couldn’t have stopped him,” she said.

“Couldn’t I?” asked Loki. “I could have led him away from the others, stolen a ship--which _was_ my first plan, by the way. But no, I decided to stay at my brother’s side this time. I wanted to not let him down for once, to prove I had changed. Then Thanos caught us anyway. Then he offered me a choice: my brother’s life, or the Tesseract. He forced my hand.” He downed the rest of his drink in one gulp, then poured another. “I failed.”

Wanda shook her head. “No, you didn’t. I failed. I could have destroyed the Mind Stone. I _did_ destroy it, but I hesitated. If I had acted sooner, when Vision first asked me to, we could have buried Thanos for good.”

“Not if he had the Time Stone,” Dr. Strange reminded her. “Even if he had none of the others when he found you, he still could’ve turned back the clock. That’s on me.”

What was happening? Didn’t any of them blame her? Not for the first time, Gamora wondered just how much the people around her were carrying. It was one of the things about Quill that took her longest to understand. He was immature and ridiculous in many ways, but all that quipping and bravado was masking decades of trauma. They were both lost children trying to survive in an unforgiving universe. In a way, they all were.

“All right, fine,” she said. “Maybe we’re all to blame. But only because Thanos took someone we cared about and used them against us.” She nodded to Loki. “Your brother.” Then Wanda. “Your lover.” The Doctor. “Your friend. And . . . my sister.”

“And you,” added Quill. He hadn’t told her much about what happened once he realized she was gone, but the other Peter’s reaction had told her enough. She squeezed his hand again.

“It’s what he does,” she said. “Takes the best in people and twists it inside out. And now, here we are.” She gestured helplessly at their bleak surroundings.

Everyone was silent for a moment after that. The full force of their desolation was starting to sink in.

“Tony Stark once told me,” said Loki, “that if he couldn’t protect the Earth, he would be damn well sure to avenge it. All of them will.”

“You think he’s right?” asked Peter.

“I think underestimating the Avengers was one of the greatest mistakes I ever made.” He drained his glass. “I hope they find him. I only wish I could be there to see it.”

He reached for the bottle again, but Bucky moved it away.

“They wouldn’t give up,” said Bucky quietly. “Neither should we.”

#

As the group split, and T’Challa moved to Loki’s table to talk more about the boat at the pier, Fury took advantage of the relative privacy with Hill.

“Report,” he said simply.

She stared at him. “All due respect, sir, but we’re pretty far off the map here. Is there really any point in following protocol?”

“Humor me, Agent Hill. This spooky-ass place is not going to get to me, and following protocol’s about the only thing keeping me from losing it right now. More to the point, I want your opinion.”

She shook her head. “Why?”

“Because I have no idea if my contact got my message or not, and because I trust you more than any of these clowns. So, Agent Hill: report.”

She surveyed the group with her usual keen eye. The truth was she’d been sizing them up this whole time. She hadn’t become a top-level SHIELD agent without knowing how to read people.

“The kid’s in way over his head,” she said. “Parker. I don’t think he’s lost a fight before, not one this big. He’s barely holding it together. Same with T’Challa, but he’s hiding it better.”

“Really?” asked Fury.

“Definitely. He let a power he couldn’t handle into his home. It’s gonna take them awhile to come back from that, no matter what happens to us here, and he knows it.” She spun the chamber of her revolver back into place. “But honestly, Nick? Most of them are just in shock.”

“No surprises there.”

“Except Barnes.”

Fury looked at her.

“He’s walking through this place like he’s been expecting this.” Hill moved on to the hunting rifle. “It’s weird. If I didn’t know better, I’d say he’s relieved.”

“Huh.” Fury glanced at the former Winter Soldier, still sitting quietly with Loki, Wanda, and now T’Challa. “Have you read his file?”

Hill shook her head. “You?”

“Yep. That man had his brain scrambled by HYDRA so many times, he forgot his own name. You remember that day over DC. We almost lost the whole capital because of him.”

“He also saved Steve Rogers’ life,” Hill reminded him, sliding a shell into the rifle’s chamber. “That mess was on HYDRA, not him. But what, you think he’s dangerous?”

“No, I just don’t know if it’s him in there. And without Rogers to shake him loose, we’ll need to watch him.” After a thoughtful pause, he said, “What about Loki?”

Hill gnawed on the inside of her cheek. “What about him?”

“You think he’s really changed?”

“Sir, he put a spear through Phil Coulson.”

Fury shrugged. “He got better.”

“Maybe, but I don’t have any forgiveness to spare for that guy.”

“Fair, but the Loki we knew tried to kill his brother to get his hands on the Tesseract.” Fury pointed at the increasingly inebriated demigod. “This one says he handed it over to save Thor’s life. That’s a pretty big shift.”

“Exactly.”

“Listen, I don’t trust him either. I want someone I do trust to find out what’s on the other side of that lake.”

Slowly, Hill realized what he was asking. She put her weapons aside and folded her hands together. “You want me to go with them.”

Fury smiled. “I would like that very much, Agent Hill. If you’re up for it.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Memorial Weekend, US folks!
> 
> If anyone's curious, yes, I know that Gamora, Loki, and Heimdall did not get 'dusted' in Infinity War, but there's a reason Gamora's choosing to let the others believe they did. I didn't forget, I'm just saving something for a twist later.
> 
> Cheers, guys!


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As the party splits in three directions, Wanda tries to brush up on her up-close combat skills.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the wait on this one! I've been taking June a bit slow in terms of online stuff because of Pride, but I am still here. And I do love seeing notifications for Kudos and Bookmarks pop up in my email. They brighten my day right up when I'm at work.
> 
> Happy Pride Everyone!

The day would run out all too quickly. Heimdall couldn’t see where the lake ended, or if it even ended at all. That was why he was guiding the scavenging party--consisting of himself, Strange, and Fury--into town instead. Getting the boat back to shore before nightfall was too dangerous, not to mention docking it at the pier and then making the long trek back to the bowling alley as the shadows started to grow. He didn’t like it.

“There are only three of us,” Loki assured him. “We can stay at the lighthouse for the night if we need to.”

“Loki,” said Heimdall, squinting up at the ash-gray sky, “you don’t have to do this. The risk is too high.”

“Of course I do. I have a lot to make up for.” He paused. “Put another way, I have red in my ledger, and I wish to wipe it out.”

Heimdall narrowed his eyes. “Who told you that? Frigga?”

“No, someone else. Someone far wiser than me. Although I suppose it doesn’t matter now.”

“Don’t get too sentimental on me,” Heimdall warned him. “I might suspect something.”

“I wouldn’t dream of it,” said the Prince with a laugh, but Heimdall could tell his heart wasn’t quite in it.

Still, those fires behind his eyes were gleaming again. Something about Gamora’s speech, or perhaps something one of the others had brought up, had rekindled it. Whatever was on that horizon, Loki was bound to meet it. He started down the path to join Maria Hill and T’Challa, who were already talking together a few yards away.

“Loki,” called Heimdall.

He stopped and looked back. “What?”

“Be careful. The others don’t understand what you’re up against.” Unspoken was the implication, _But you do_.

Loki did understand. He nodded, then joined his companions on the path towards the boat. All three vanished into the fog.

#

Two steps forward. One back. Spin to the right, and parry. Gamora’s blade came around and thwacked Wanda in the ribs. Wanda hissed in frustration and went back into her original position.

They weren’t using real blades, but golf clubs with the putters hacked off. The rubber grips had rotted away, so Gamora had wrapped them in duct tape Peter had unearthed from somewhere, and the length was good for practicing.

The mini-golf course provided some interesting terrain. Not bad if you had to learn how to fight in poor light conditions, and needed to watch for debris. Wanda had tripped over the same plastic alligator three times now.

“You’ll get it,” said Gamora encouragingly. “Your balance is excellent, actually. You just need to get used to thinking of this,” she raised her modified golf club, “as an extension of your arm. It’s not like hand to hand.”

Not that Wanda had fought much hand to hand either, but she understood the principal well enough. So she nodded and raised her own club.

This time Wanda dove low, aiming for the other woman’s legs. Gamora leapt out of the way easily. Wanda rolled and came up behind her, pushing off a styrofoam rock and and swinging her blade down overhead. Gamora spun quick as a flash, and the two blades crashed together in the air. They stayed locked like that, struggling, for a moment, until Wanda uncoiled her arm to break away. Somehow, with the shift in their positions, Gamora snatched Wanda’s club out of her grip and sent her tumbling down an astro-turf hill. The next thing she knew, Wanda was flat on her back, and Gamora was kneeling over her with both blades crossed at her neck.

Gamora grinned, then flipped one of the clubs around grip-first so Wanda could use it to pull herself up.

“It will get easier,” she said.

“How soon?” asked Wanda. “In time for the next sundown?” She dusted off her backside, teeth clenched, nerves buzzing. “I hate being weak,” she muttered.

“Don’t say that,” Gamora chastised. “You’re not weak. It’s just a different style of fighting, that’s all.”

That was easy enough for her to say. She’d been fighting like this her whole life. Wanda had only been fighting, at all, for the past few years, and her biggest advantage had been taken away from her. Wanda shut her eyes, breathed in, and went back to her first position, poised for attack.

Gamora watched her, expression focused but unreadable. “Okay, one more time,” she said. “Just save some of that rage for the monsters, okay?”

Wanda didn’t answer. She raised her sword, and waited.

#

Peter was kicking himself. He should’ve asked the scavenging party to pick up some tools or spare parts. The utility closet behind the Employees Only door had a few things--pliers, electrical tape, duct tape, wrench and socket set--but it was pretty basic stuff.

The lights were nothing. With Quill’s help, he had them set up and ready to go in a little over an hour. But there was also an old juke box at the bar. He was pretty sure he could get it working again. Just for the atmosphere, to lighten everyone’s mood a little. But once Peter cracked open the back and started messing with wires and connections, he got another idea. If only he’d thought of it before everyone left.

Meanwhile, Quill was sitting on top of the bar, crunching his way through a bag of chips, watching the two women spar.

“Dude,” said Peter. “You’re staring.”

“Kid, I am appreciating watching my girl do what she does best.” He crunched another chip. “And it is beautiful.”

Peter shook his head, and went back to the inner workings of the juke box. He shouldn’t judge, really. He’d ogled Liz like that a few times, at least until Michelle called him on it. That was before, though. He had no idea where she was now, or even if she was still alive. Or Michelle. Or Ned. Especially Ned. He would’ve known how to get this cranky old antique working again.

_He might not have made it, you know,_ an irritatingly logical voice reminded him. _Or any of the others on the bus. Even if you’d stayed, you might be toast right now._

No. He didn’t care what the others said. If Ned wasn’t here, he was alive. He had to believe that. And somehow, he was going to prove it.

Peter twisted a few more wires together at the back of the machine. Satisfied he’d put most of the pieces back where they belonged, he plugged it in. There was no telling if it would still play, but there was only one way to know for sure. The knob to turn it on was missing, so he reached inside with a pair of pliers to twist the mechanism around. The thing shuddered and groaned. The colored lights inside flickered feebly.

“Is it working?” asked Quill, hopping down from the bar.

“Not sure yet,” said Peter. Then he muttered, “Come on, come on,” to the machine.

It sputtered, and eventually an unintelligible warble emerged from one of the speakers. So close. Peter peered into the back again, made a couple minor adjustments. Then Quill gave it a sharp kick at the base. Before Peter could protest, the lights came on. They stayed on. The warble leveled out into a smooth 1960s ballad.

“Yes!” crowed Quill.

“Oh, wow, that actually worked. Thanks, man!”

“Hang on, I think I know this song.”

Peter looked at him. “Is this on one of your mixes?”

Quill thought for a moment, then said, “No, but I remember this. It was actually on the radio when I was a kid.” He jogged toward the mini-golf course. “Hey, Gamora! What do you say?”

Gamora paused mid-skirmish. “What?”

“Take a break and come over here. I still owe you a dance, remember?” He started dancing with his arms wrapped around an invisible partner.

Watching him, Gamora shook her head fondly, then said, “Okay,” and called a halt to her training session. Peter wondered if Quill actually could dance. He wanted to tinker more with the juke box to see if his other idea would work, but--later. Let them have their moment first.


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Just a supply run with Fury, Strange, and Heimdall. And a convoy of giant winged insects.

Abandoned cities were decidedly _not_ on Nick Fury’s short list of favorite vacation spots. Old, broken-down, or depressed areas he could live with. There were plenty of looked-over areas of New York that fit those criteria. But at least those places had _life_ in them, little pockets of defiant existence behind the boarded windows and cracked pavement.

But this empty, dusty, ghost town shit? This was something else. Fury, Strange, and Heimdall came down the main road into the village. The whole place was empty of even rats. After seeing the bowling alley, it was even more obvious why they’d picked it as a home base. Down here, there were no lights, no electricity, no shelter. Rooftops crumbled, doors rusted through their hinges, dust and grime coated every window.

However, they weren’t quite alone. They had picked up a sinister convoy of giant winged insects, like deer flies the size of house cats. Just one or two at first, then more, eventually reaching up to a half-dozen. They seemed to be made of the same smoke/mud/sludge stuff as the creatures that had attacked the bowling alley the night before. All darkness and hazy outlines, but enough solidity for six spiny legs, four ragged translucent wings, a thorax striped gray and black, and huge, mirror-like eyes. Heimdall called them Sentries.

Fury was regretting coming on this supply run already.

“They won’t attack,” said Heimdall, following Fury’s uncertain gaze to one of the things perched on a street light. “They just keep watch.” After a pause, he added, “So far.”

“Uh-huh,” said Fury, not convinced. “Let’s just get this over with.”

Repairs, fuel, weapons. A sporting goods store not far from the fountain in the village square. They barely looked at each other as they pilfered duffel bags from a camping display and piled in the supplies. They had no trouble getting everything on their list, which was somehow even _more_ unnerving than it would’ve been to find the place barren and picked over. It was so empty of people, no one had even bothered to loot it.

When they emerged, one of the Sentries had come to roost on the sign above the post office across the street.

“Heimdall,” said Strange. “Where were these things yesterday?”

 _Good question,_ thought Fury.

Strange looked paler than usual, peering up at the Sentry at the post office with hollow eyes and shaking hands. Maybe it was just the filtered quality of the light, but he also kept rubbing at his hands. Whenever he didn’t keep them clenched at his sides, there a slight tremor. Fury wanted to grill him some more on what exactly he’d seen in this version of the future, but now wasn’t the time.

“Maybe they don’t like crowds,” Heimdall suggested.

“Maybe?” Fury scoffed. “I hope your idea that they won’t carry us off for dinner is based on more than a ‘maybe.’”

Heimdall shrugged apologetically. “I wish I knew more, believe me. But we’re completely cut off here. It’s like being inside a snow globe. I can’t see farther than the walls.”

Something about the way he said it didn’t ring true. A certain tension in the jaw, a veil behind his golden-colored eyes, that told the lie. Digging the truth out of unwilling third parties was more Romanov’s wheelhouse, but Fury could spot a tell as well as the best of them.

Of course it would be a hell of a lot easier to concentrate without those fucking wasp things staring at them every few feet. One zipped closer and perched on a windowsill. And another took a spot on top of the fountain, wobbling and flapping its hideous wings like a grotesque, oversized park pigeon.

Fury adjusted his grip on the duffel’s strap and headed back up the road, and the others followed. “I never liked snow globes,” he said. “Like T’Challa said, there was a way in, so there’s got to be a way out.”

“Agreed,” said Strange. “Have you tried picking a direction and just walking until the road runs out?”

“Of course we did,” said Heimdall.

“And?”

Heimdall gazed up at the pinking sky. Noon had passed without them noticing. Sunset was already on its way. “The road ran out.”

#

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Holy Update Gaps, Batman!
> 
> In my defense, I have been busy. Mostly with work, but also with Real Life writing workshop stuff, so a big chunk of my creative brain-juice was going towards that. I haven't forgotten this story though! Next update won't be so long coming. Cheers!


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Loki, T'Challa, and Maria Hill are out on the lake. There's something in the mist. . .
> 
> WARNING: Cliffhanger. Very mean cliffhanger.

The little boat by the lighthouse would never last in a real ocean, but for the lake it served its purpose well enough. Maria Hill was more accustomed to high-tech spy submarines and military ocean liners. Good old-fashioned sailing wasn’t her forte. Loki and T’Challa, on the other hand, were both old hands at the mast, and between the three of them, they managed a decent clip by noon.

Maria leaned her weight back against a heavy line, with T’Challa facing her from across the deck, his hands wrapped around another line. Loki had taken the helm, which wasn’t an actual wheel--the vessel was too small for that--but a wooden rod controlling the rudder. The sail above them filled and jerked as Loki adjusted their position.

“Steady,” T’Challa warned as Maria dug her heels in.

The boat moved a hair further to port and Loki called, “Perfect! Tie her off. We need to finish this before nightfall.”

Maria and T’Challa secured their lines. The boat picked up speed, sending a gentle spray over the hull. Despite everything, it was kind of nice being out on the lake. Maybe it was the fresh air, or the watery breeze, or the fact that this far from shore it was impossible to tell the town was abandoned and overrun by monsters.

Also, Loki at sea was a very different entity than the one Maria had gotten used to. With his cold, bright eyes pinned to the horizon, and the wind tangling his long hair except for where he’d braided it back, he was transformed. Happy even, only without the fiendish glee she’d seen in him back in New York. Watching him on the deck, it was easy to remember how strongly Asgard had influenced the ancient Vikings.

He glanced at her, watching him, and said, “What?” And the moment shattered.

“It might help,” said Maria, covering smoothly, “if we knew what we were looking for.”

He sighed. “I’m not exactly sure myself. But I’ll know it when I see it.”

“Will we?” asked T’Challa. He had gone up to the bow, looking out over the waters through a copper telescope they’d found stashed below. “It’s difficult to see much of anything in this fog. I cannot tell where the sky meets the sea.”

“Don’t you mean the lake?” asked Maria.

T’Challa smiled knowingly. “That’s just the thing. A ‘lake’ should have another shore. This doesn’t.” He folded the telescope shut. “It appears to carry on endlessly.”

“Nothing is endless,” said Loki.

T’Challa came to the stern, watching him curiously. “You still haven’t said what happened. Last night, when that thing grabbed you.”

The Asgardian stared straight ahead, at the horizon. His jaw tightened, but otherwise he didn’t react.

“What are you looking for you, Your Highness?” T’Challa pressed.

At the honorific, Loki finally softened and met his eye. “Same as the rest of us: I’m looking for a way back.”

He seemed poised to say something else, but a sharp crack interrupted him. The boat tilted violently. Maria rushed to the side and peered over.

“What was that?” she said. “Did something hit us?”

The water was dark as tar. She couldn’t see a thing under the black waves. T’Challa appeared at her side, following her gaze into the darkness.

“Can you see anything?” he asked.

Maria shook her head. “Nothing.”

“Don’t!” Loki had left the helm. He pulled them both back from the edge and held up a harpoon gun.

T’Challa gaped at the weapon. “Where did you get that?”

Loki didn’t answer. Instead he stared sharp-eyed at the swath of nothing in front of them and said, “Get back. Don’t touch it!”

“Touch what?” argued Maria. “There’s nothing there but the lake and the mist.”

“It _is_ the mist--get back!”

That’s when she saw it. Shapes in the chilly whiteness, like clouds making pictures but on the water. She’d thought it was the shifting of the wind creating those long tendrils and branching, grasping forms, but no. It was alive.

Bullets would be wasted on this thing. They’d pass straight through. Maria left her handgun where it was and hauled a machete out of her bag. Then she went into defensive stance. T’Challa flexed his claws, activating his vibranium-laced suit. It would be tricky taking on a mostly incorporeal enemy. The shadow monsters from last night had at least been solid. They’d have to get close, but somehow avoid touching it.

Something smacked against the boat again, rocking it so hard that water splashed up over and deck, soaking Maria’s feet as she scrambled for balance. A strand of mist oozed over the hull. Maria swiped out with her machete. The thing parted like smoke, losing form just as quickly. But then it let out a _sigh_. A horrible sound, like the last breath of a dying creature. It was ghastly.

She almost missed the next coil of mist as it circled the floor around her feet. Maria jumped out of its way, but the boat was too small. There was nowhere to run, nowhere to hide, nowhere to gain ground. The mist poured in on all sides, thickening into undulating pillars and winding around the mast. She stomped it with her boots, slashed with her blade, and tumbled back and forth to keep out of its way. The mist had no give at all. It was like fighting air. Maria was too busy to even see how Loki and T’Challa were doing, but she heard them slashing and jabbing.

"They aren't supposed to come out until nightfall!" Loki was saying.

"Tell them that!" T'Challa argued.

Maria couldn't even see them anymore. The fog was too thick. Every time she cut away at the mist, it let out another of those horrible _sighs_. Sometimes it sounded like a human voice, fuzzy and far away, like a scrambled radio signal. Against her better judgement, Maria listened, trying to pick words out of the mess. Distracted, she didn’t see a shape like a pale white hand the size of a sail careening downward from the sky. She had no time to roll away. It descended straight through her, chilly and damp as a cloud.

The world slowed down. Maria fell, but it was like falling through whipped cream. No crash, no pain, just a soft descent. And it kept going. Somewhere up ahead, she heard T’Challa shouting her name, but it was a distant memory. Everything else filled with blank, all-encompassing whiteness. And she kept falling.

#


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Peter and Peter try to turn the juke box into a distress call while Gamora worries about the lake party. Then they hear a voice. . .

Gamora was pacing. She never paced. At least not according to Quill, who was doing his best to listen nicely while helping Peter rewire the jukebox again.

"I don't like this," she was saying. "They've been gone too long. They should've been back by now. If they aren't on shore in twenty minutes, they won't be able to get inside before dark."

"I thought you said they could stay at the lighthouse," said Peter. He knew she was worried, although he was pretty focused on stripping and reconnecting some cables at the back of the machine, so he wasn't exactly looking. "Keep this up here," he muttered to Quill, passing the other man a pair of pliers and showing him where he wanted them pinched.

"Yes," said the Gamora, a note of irritation creeping into her voice. "But we have no way of knowing that. Even if they do get back to the lighthouse, we'd be stuck here wondering until morning. Unless we send someone out now to--"

"No," said Quill. "No way, you can't go out there."

"I know that! I'm just . . . I don't like it. I don't like not knowing."

A spark hissed out of the back of the machine. Peter flinched, but none of the sparks landed on him. At this point, he was just relieved the jukebox seemed to operate more or less the same as a jukebox back on Earth.

"How's it going back there?" said Fury's voice.

"Um," said Peter, staring the jumble of wires in front of him. "Hard to say. But I think it's--"

The machine hissed and popped, and a plume of smoke spilled out of one of the speakers.

"I think we pissed it off," said Quill, coughing.

Peter sighed. "Let it go," he said.

Quill handed the pliers back. Peter sat back against the wall and ran a hand through his hair. Okay, it was a disaster. A jukebox wasn't a Ham radio, no matter how many parts they shared, and he couldn't turn it into one without more materials. That had been the idea: to get a signal generated to go . . . well, _somewhere_. Even though it was a long shot, it was all they had.

"Take five?" asked Quill.

Peter nodded. They headed to the kitchen for something to eat, then joined the others back in the main lobby beside the bowling alley.

"You'll get it," Quill assured him. "Just gotta try thinking more creatively, that's all."

"Why are you in such a good mood?" asked Peter. "We're basically in Hell, you know."

"Nah. This ain't Hell."

"How do you know?"

Gamora came over and sat down with them. Quill beamed at her and said, "Because there's an angel here." Then he kissed her hand.

"Wow," said Gamora flatly, but she was smiling. "That is the cheesiest thing you have ever said to me."

"Is it working?"

She lifted an eyebrow. "A little."

But then twenty minutes passed, and there was still no sign of T'Challa, Maria, or Loki. It was going to get dark again soon. The jukebox in the corner gave a few feeble crackles as they ate. They ignored it.

"I'm not worried about Hill," said Fury. "She can handle herself. T'Challa too."

"But out there all alone, with the monsters?" said Dr. Strange.

"I'm more worried about that Asgardian than I am about the monsters."

"What, you think he's up to something?" asked Peter.

"He is always up to something. You don't know him."

"I do," said Heimdall.

The room got very quiet when he spoke up. Heimdall didn't say much, but when he did, everyone else tended to pay attention. He was watching Fury with his arms crossed. The jukebox fizzed with static again.

"You don't know how it was when we first arrived here," said the Asgardian. "We trusted each other because we had to. There was no other way to survive. Loki's first instinct is to survive. It's what he's best at. He would only betray them if he had something to gain by it, and believe me, there is nothing to gain here but time. He knows better than to try to steer that boat by himself."

After a moment, Fury said, "I still don't like him."

"I'm sure he doesn't like you either, but I don't think that matters right now."

"What will happen to them?" said Bucky. "If they don't get back, and the monsters come out, what will happen to them?"

Gamora shook her head. "I don't know. But I know it's not good."

The jukebox burst into noise. Something low and scrambled came through. A female voice, young. Except. . . It didn't sound like singing. Peter ran back to the jukebox and spun the dial to adjust the signal. The voice got clearer, but the words were in a language Peter didn't understand.

"What is it?" asked Dr. Strange, hovering near the machine.

"I dunno," said Peter. "Some kind of ad?"

"Jukeboxes don't have ads," said Quill.

Peter pulled off the front panel and made a few more adjustments. The machine sparked again.

"Careful," said Quill.

"I got it, I got it!"

The voice slipped out of existence for a moment, but only a moment. When it came back, it was sharp and clear. It wasn't an ad--it was a _message_. Brief, but delivered in a precise, confident voice. After a pause, it started again. Only this time, it sounded slightly different. Peter didn't understand a word, but something about it sounded repetitive, but not, at the same time. Then, it happened again. The message stopped, then started again.

"What is this?" asked Quill.

"They're different languages," said Gamora. "The same message, in another language. That's three so far."

"That we know of," Dr. Strange pointed out.

"Mandarin," said Bucky. He was sitting near the snack bar, his head tilted in concentration as the words kept coming. "Now it's German. Farsi. Portuguese."

"Russian," said Wanda, standing up suddenly. "I understand her."

"Well, don't keep us in the dark here," said Fury. "What's she saying?"

Almost as if the voice on the radio had heard him, the message switched to English: " _If anyone can hear this, if anyone survived the Infinity Gauntlet attack, please respond to this frequency._ "

A hush seeped into the room, broken only by the continued voice coming from the machine.

"Oh my god," said Wanda, with a pointed look at Bucky.

"I know," he said.

"I don't," said Fury. "Who is that? How do you know we can trust her?"

"We can trust her," said Bucky. "I know her. It's Shuri."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Firstly, thank you to LegoTea for getting my mind back on this story again--your enthusiasm is a huge help, and I appreciate it!
> 
> Secondly, the chapters from here on are going to be un-beta'd, so apologies if any more than usual loose grammatical stuff gets overlooked.
> 
> Thirdly, the other reason I'm getting back to this story is THERE IS A NEW TRAILER OUT and I feel a pressing need to finish before the next movie comes out. I have four more chapters ready to go, so hopefully the waits between them won't be as long this time. Happy December, everyone!


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What happens when the mist and shadows touch you? This is what Maria Hill remembers when she wakes up.

When Maria Hill woke up, the sky was clear. Clear and dark, with the barest suggestion of blue behind the black. It was night again. No moon. No stars. She lay on her side on the deck. Someone had thrown a blanket over her. Her head felt . . . weird. Not painful, exactly, but everything had the hazy, unfocused quality of a dream.

A few feet away, Loki was kneeling on the deck, facing out over the waves. His eyes were closed, and he was speaking softly and rapidly in a language Maria didn't recognize. Was he . . . praying? How did that work, for someone who had so often referred to himself as a "god?" Who was he speaking to?

Maria stirred, trying to get her bearings. The length of her side ached. And her head. And her hip. She must've landed hard when she fell. She struggled to an upright position, pushing up on the heels of her hands, and rested with her back braced against the hull. The minor exertion made just enough noise to attract Loki's attention. He stopped his fervent whispering and looked at her. His eyes glittered like insects in the dark.

"I'm fine," Maria muttered before he could ask. "Where's T'challa?"

"Keeping watch," said Loki, and he pointed up towards the bow.

And there he was. Maria could see him now that she was looking. He was so still against the night sky he could've been a part of the ship. He wasn't looking at them, but out over the lake, and the mist.

The pale white clouds were hanging back now, passive and settled over the water. If she listened closely, she could hear the voices inside the mist faintly, but only faintly. She shivered.

As her eyes adjusted to the dark, she could see a pale, silvery light that brightened the edges of the small ship, and of the water surrounding them. Strange, though. Because there was no moon, and no stars. Where was the light coming from?

"It's the mist," said Loki, reading the confusion on her face. "It's illuminated."

She looked, and was shocked to see he was right. A soft glow came from the mist, shivering from wave to wave like heat lightning without the accompanying rumble of thunder.

"How?" she asked. "Is it like phosphorous?"

"I don't think so," said Loki. "I suggest you stop looking for a rational explanation, Agent Hill. It'll only waste time."

Maria stood up shakily. She didn't like admitting he was right. Which he was. And she resented that. The only thing to do now was--

A flood of images poured through her brain. Faces, dozens of faces, contorted in agony. Some angry, some afraid, some defiant, but all in obvious, incredible pain. Faces she'd seen before.

She swayed on her feet, pressing a hand against her forehead.

Loki rushed to her side to steady her, grabbing onto her shoulders. "Easy," he said, but she pushed him away.

"Don't touch me! I said I'm fine."

He backed off. But when the episode was over, and the faces had faded, Maria looked up to see him watching her.

"What?" she asked.

"What did you see?" he asked.

The question almost sent her mind spinning again. He kept his voice low--low enough that T'challa wouldn't hear. Whatever had happened to Maria when the mist had taken hold of her wasn't something he wanted to share with the King just yet. Surely, he knew that she'd be reporting everything back to Fury later? Assuming they ever got back to shore, that is. The thing was, Maria didn't want to tell T'challa yet either. Partly because she couldn't explain it. But with Loki, she didn't need to.

"I don't know," she said. "Just faces. I didn't recognize them."

Loki scrutinized her a moment, then gave her a sad, knowing smile. "Yes, you do."

And she did know. She knew those faces. Every single one, no matter how much time passed, or how hard she tried to forgive herself. She didn't realized she remembered them until they were spinning through her mind like celluloid. Those were the faces of everyone she had ever killed.


	13. Chapter 13

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The shadows come back to the bowling alley for another attack, and Wanda gets to see if Gamora's training paid off. But then she finds out what happens when the shadows touch you. . .

The younger Peter wasn't five minutes into reversing the signal on the jukebox--something about tracing Shuri's message back to its source, the better to send something back to her--when something big collided with the side of the building. It shook the whole room, toppling chairs and forcing Wanda to grab onto the side of the bar to keep from falling.

"It's too early," said Gamora, peering up at the ceiling accusingly. "They can't be here yet."

Heimdall checked at the doors, and drew his sword. "They're here," he said. "We have to get outside and fight them off. Now!"

Wanda's whole world tilted and slowed down. No. They could't be here already. Like Gamora said, it was too early. It wasn't even dark out yet.

"Might be better to abandon this place," said Quill. "They know we're all in here now."

The other Peter shook his head. "No, please," he said. "I can get it working--I have to. It's our only shot. I just need more time."

"He's right," said Dr. Strange. "That signal needs to stay open. We'll hit the floodlights to give you a window."

Wanda wondered if he'd seen something that pointed them towards Shuri's signal in one of the many possible futures he'd looked at, but there wasn't any time to ask.

Without a word, Bucky followed Heimdall back to the roof, snatching up his machine gun on the way. The others scattered into their own directions, to the door, to the back--all but Wanda. Dr. Strange stayed behind with Peter, guarding him like they had before. Wanda was on the point of doing the same when Gamora grabbed her arm.

"With me," said Gamora, and put a machete into her hand.

"I can't--"

"You can, and you're gonna. This isn't the time to be shy. Come on."

And she swept them both out the door before Wanda could say another thing. The shadows were everywhere. It was nothing like the slow creep and subsequent onslaught from the last night. It was a swarm. A tornado. A living storm cloud. The whole dark mass churned above and around them in a ghastly cyclone. There was a sound like static, and the shriek of feedback, and the chittering of cicadas all at once.

"Oh god," Wanda murmured. Her hand was sweating around the handle of the machete.

But Gamora didn't hesitate. She leapt towards the boiling mass, sword held high. The blade flashed in the darkness and the shadows split apart, but not for long. Wanda gripped her machete with unsteady hands as shots went off around and behind her--Quill and Fury doing their part to fend off the darkness. From the roof, metal glinted behind the shadows, either from Heimdall's sword or Bucky's arm. Wanda couldn't tell from the ground.

A chunk of shadowy substance the size of a basketball smacked into the side of the building. There was another one at one of the other corners. That must've been the noise they'd heard earlier. It slid partway down, leaving a slime trail on the wall, then latched and stuck there, pulsing like a giant, diseased organ.

Still, Wanda stood frozen. She couldn't move. Why couldn't she move? She'd been in fights before. This hesitation didn't make any sense. It was like Sokovia all over again, and she was hiding in the corners waiting for someone to show up and light a fire under her. What had happened to her? She wasn't the only one who hadn't fought an enemy like this before. And they were all struggling, but they were all doing their jobs.

She tried once again to get her bearings, but everything was moving so fast. Everywhere she looked, the shadows thickened and twisted and reached out. What was she supposed to attack? It didn't have any weak spots.

 _What's the point?_ a faint, stubborn voice asked in the back of her mind. _Whatever happens here, we still lost. Thanos still destroyed everything, and we'll still be stuck wherever he sent us. What does it matter if we keep fighting here?_

"Maximoff!" yelled Gamora. "Get it together!"

But Wanda couldn't see her. She heard the sing of Gamora's blade, but it was so distorted she couldn't tell which direction it was coming from.

"Just watch your feet and keep moving, like we practiced. Let's go!"

At that moment, a tentacle of dark gunk swiped low towards Wanda's leg. Without thinking, she danced out of the way and slashed at it with the machete. The thing parted and fell into separate wriggling, gelatinous lumps.

"Good!" said Gamora. "Now keep going--you can do this!"

"Okay," Wanda muttered to herself. "Okay." Yes, she could do this. She was still an Avenger, and she had a job to do. Giving up wasn't an option. No matter what.

A patch of cold was growing behind her. She spun and swung the blade wide. A giant creature that may have been a half-formed spider shied away, but not fast enough. It disintegrated and rolled back into the heaving mass. There was no time for fear to take hold. Just keep moving, like Gamora said. After all, she was a better fighter than these shadowy things, and they didn't have weapons.

She fell once, backward over a piece of debris. She rolled and got her feet back under her quickly. It was much smaller than that damned plastic alligator on the mini-golf course. It barely slowed her down. She parried, crouched, spun, and thrust at the shadows, beating them back for what felt like hours. The voices of the others drifted in and out, but Wanda could never get a good look at any of them. The darkness was too thick.

Fury called out, "I'm all out! Where's that van with the weapons?"

A moment later, Gamora's voice cut through the gloom. "I can't get to it--I can't see a thing."

Wanda moved towards Fury's voice. "Stay where you are," she said. "I'll cover you."

She slashed and cut as she ran. It took her so long to get to him, she thought she'd gotten lost. The shadows stayed with her, but she kept slicing them away. Then she came to a cleared off place where the shadows had lifted, just a few feet wide. They spun around and above like flakes in a snow globe. In the middle sat Fury. He was kneeling in the center of the shadows, his gun on the ground beside him, staring blankly ahead. His good eye was wide and glassy. He looked like he'd seen a ghost.

Wanda slowed down. "Fury?" she asked hesitantly.

She didn't want to get too close. Right then, his face scared her more than anything else she'd seen here so far.

A snake of shadow unfurled towards Fury. Wanda ran towards it and cut it away before it could touch him. Three more stretched out from the other side of the clearing. Wanda turned back to take care of them, but she had barely gotten to the second one when another cluster descended from overhead. The space was shrinking rapidly.

"Fury's down!" she called. "I can't hold them back much longer."

But no one responded. The only sound was the crackling, electric breath of the shadows. And they were still closing in.

No one was coming.

What had happened to Fury? What would happen to her if those things touched her? She didn't want to find out, but it looked like she wasn't going to have a choice. The shadows overhead crept lower. The ones all around circled tighter. Wanda kept swinging her machete, but it was barely making a difference now.

It was the barest, lightest touch. A wisp of nothing at her wrist. But it was enough. A swoon of terror swept over her. So many people, all of them screaming. Sokovia. Wakanda. Lagos. Hundreds of souls, all of them crying out, all dead because of her. Wanda fell back. The machete clattered to the ground. Their faces spilled through her brain. The shadows. The faces of the dead were inside the shadows.

A bright orange light gleamed through the darkness. At first Wanda thought it was hellfire, finally coming through to claim them. But then the shadows retreated, and this time they stayed back. The screams faded away as the roar of the flames took over. Something was burning up the darkness. The clearing grew and the cyclone lifted. She could see the van.

A hand closed around Wanda's arm and hauled her to her feet. It was Fury.

"Not a word," he muttered, and she nodded mutely. "Let's get going."

They bolted for the van and found Quill there, stockpiling his own supplies. Gamora was on the van's roof, still fighting the shadows with her sword. The fire was coming from the roof. She didn't know how, but Heimdall had ignited a torch--some hunk of wood from the building. The shadows caught quickly, and the fire spread through them like gasoline. Bucky had done something to his machine gun, and was firing bolts of fire into the clouds. It was impossible, but somehow, it was working.

A slice of blue sky was peeking through above. They could breathe again. But then one last, long-reaching shadow stretched itself out. It wrapped around Bucky's good arm like a python.

_No._

Wanda charged back for the front door.

"Wanda, wait!" Gamora called after her.

But Wanda barely heard her. She plunged past what was left of the shadows and burst through the front door. She didn't speak to or even look at Strange and Peter, still hunkered down by the jukebox. She went straight for the stairway to the roof. When she got there, the clouds were all but gone. Heimdall was stomping out the last of the flames, his sword already put away. Bucky was shaking off the smoke like it was nothing, like it hadn't affected him at all.

"It's over for now," said Heimdall. "Fire isn't exactly like sunlight, but it'll do. We'll be better prepared next time." Then he turned his attention to the ones on the ground.

"I don't think we should split up again," Gamora was saying. "We can't afford another fight like that, not until the others come back. It's too much."

"We might not have a choice," said Quill.

Wanda barely registered what they were saying. The shadows had touched Bucky. Wanda had seen it. She'd been so sure. But he was okay. Somehow, miraculously, Bucky was okay.

Why was he okay?


	14. Chapter 14

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Loki has a theory about where they really are. (Hint: it's not the Soul Stone.) (Guys, I know nothing about how the Soul Stone works, I'm just making up stuff. Just fyi. ;) )

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Almost New Year's! I should really know by now that having X number of days off for the holidays does NOT mean I'll get to use all that time for writing and posting things. Nope, it means I'll be doing a lot of cooking, wrapping, and hanging about with the family. Which is great! But it did create a larger gap in my posting schedule than I anticipated. Back on track now, hopefully. Hope everyone who celebrates had a good holiday!

Dawn broke slowly over the lake. It was still quicker than a real sunrise, but everything felt slower out here. The light oozed over the horizon like it was dredging itself up from a swamp. The sky overhead looked strangely iridescent, like the inside of an oyster shell. It would have been beautiful if Maria wasn't preoccupied wondering what new horrors would descend on them next.

Maria stood at the bow, looking through the telescope at the endless, white nothing beyond the waters. As far as she could tell, there was no end to it.

"It shouldn't be this light already," said Loki. "The days are shrinking."

"How is that possible?" asked T'challa. "We shouldn't be speeding up. This world is far too unstable."

"Understatement," muttered Maria, collapsing the telescope and handing it to T'challa. "But whatever's happening, we can't rely on night and day coming when they're supposed to."

None of them had slept since the white mist had attacked, at least not after Maria had woken up again. They'd only watched and waited for the mist to dissolve. Maria hadn't kept track of the time. She just kept thinking about the fact that they hadn't gotten back to shore. The longer they stayed in the little boat, the less certain she became that the shore was even there anymore. What if this was their forever? Their collective punishment for all the things they'd done wrong in life?

If T'challa or Loki felt the same way, they didn't say so, and Maria never voiced her paranoia out loud. They kept moving, following a heading only Loki could see. It was unclear just how much further they could go.

"We'll be lost out here if we go for much longer," said T'challa.

"You want to turn around?" asked Maria.

T'challa shook his head. "Not just yet, no. But if we don't--" He stopped. His jaw tightened. He squinted at something in the distance and then raised the telescope.

"What is it?"

"I'm not sure," said T'challa. "There's something. . ."

A moment later, a line of pale blue light shot across the sky in a wide, curving arc, as if someone was running a scanner over the clouds.

"There!" shouted T'challa, pointing. "Did you see it?"

"I see it!" said Maria. "What the hell is that?"

A few seconds later, it happened again. The arc of light appeared at the horizon, raced upward along the edge of the sky, and disappeared at the peak overhead.

Suddenly, Loki let out a burst of curses in a language neither T'challa nor Maria could understand, his hand clapped to his forehead. "By all the stars in all the galaxies in all the realms, I am an idiot," he said, finally switching to English. "Of course!"

Maria and T'challa looked at each other.

"Does that light mean something to you?" asked T'challa.

But Loki just rattled on as if he hadn't heard him. "That's why we can't find an exit--because we haven't been looking for something that isn't there!"

Maria was still trying to wrap her brain around that when Loki stepped up onto the gunwale, and dove into the water.

"Whoa!" yelled Maria, just as T'challa cried out, "Stop, get back in the boat!"

They both clung to the edge of the ship until Loki surfaced a few meters away.

"I'm fine," he called back. "It's just a bit farther. I can see it now." Then he kept swimming.

T'challa tossed the telescope back to Maria. "Keep him in sight."

"What are you doing?" she asked.

"Pulling up alongside him. Don't lose him."

Maria fixed Loki in the telescope's sight as T'challa marched back to the rudder to steer them closer. Loki was moving away, towards a destination somewhere on the hazy horizon. As far as she could tell, it was all just sky and water out there. "What are you up to?" she wondered aloud, watching him.

But then he stopped.

"T'challa!" she called. "He's stopping."

"What for?"

"I'm not sure yet."

She kept watching him. Loki raised a hand. Something about the water around him didn't seem right. It was choppy, but the waves were too small, like it was shallow or something. But he was still treading water as if it was too deep to stand. It also had a foamy edge to it, like the sharp spray at the drop-off of a waterfall. Loki reached out, and his hand met something solid. A pale blue light spread from around his hand as if he had touched an invisible barrier, and raced upward to the sky.

"What?" said Maria.

But Loki watched the path of the arc across the sky with a triumphant grin.

"It was the waves," said T'challa, staring. "The wake from the boat, it sent those lights into the sky."

"Precisely," said Loki. He swam back and let him haul him back into the boat.

"What is it?" asked Maria. "Some kind of force field?"

"Not exactly," said Loki. "It's difficult to see since we're so close to the edge, but watch closely. Look for the fractals." He pointed upward, and they all waited.

It wasn't long until another wave set off the light show again, rippling upward. He was right. It wasn't a single arc, but a spiral. It moved in a wide, curling pattern until it reached the top.

Loki turned to them, his eyes gleaming. "It's a lacuna."


	15. Chapter 15

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Loki (and by extension, I) try to explain what "lacuna" means in this context. I'm combining a few different ideas here, but hopefully it makes sense. And yes, I did listen to a lot of Lacuna Coil while editing this. :) Happy Weekend, everyone!

"A what?"

"A lacuna--perfect hiding place, better than any cave, prison, or dungeon."

The trio from the lake had returned to massive hugs, questions, and where-have-you-beens, but Loki blew past all of them to share what they'd discovered.

"Heimdall," said Loki, turning to the other Asgardian. "You remember that book Mother tried to hide from us as children? All those stories she thought were too gruesome even for the sons of kings? You remember, don't you?"

Loki was talking so fast it made Peter dizzy. Or maybe that was just a side-effect of the constant onslaught of monsters and not enough sleep. Peter couldn't remember the last time he'd closed his eyes. Plus, there was something about that storm of monsters from last night, something different he couldn't wrap his brain around yet. He understood Loki's eagerness, though. It was getting worse out there. Anything they could grab onto that might change things--including continuing to mess with the juke box--was worth trying.

Heimdall watched him, arms crossed. "Yes, I remember," he said. "I also remember Frigga grounded you for two years when you found the book anyway."

"That's just the point: I _did_ find it. She hid it inside a lacuna." He paced the room as he talked, gesturing widely at everyone he passed as if he expected this to mean anything to them. He was on too much of a roll for anyone to tell him otherwise. "It's an intensely complicated form of concealment," he explained. "Even I've never managed it. Frigga was the only master of magic I've known to have done it successfully, and that was just with a book. Something on this scale is. . ." He sputtered out, gazing upward in wonder.

"So, wait," said Quill. "That's what you think this is? We're inside one of these 'lacunas?'"

"Yes, that's exactly what I think," said Loki.

"I thought a 'lacuna' referred to the cycle between death and the afterlife," said Dr. Strange. "It's a myth, it's not magic."

"No," said T'challa. "It's a shell, like a nautilus. I've seen them."

"What does any of this mean?" asked Gamora, pulling them back into focus. "You said you broke through it when you were a kid. How did you do that?"

"By looking for the seams," said Loki. "Magic is always weakest at the places where it's been sealed. Something always bleeds through, no matter how skilled the magician. And we found a seam. At the lake."

Silence settled over the room then. They had set out to find a way out of this cycling prison, and had succeeded. Even at his most hopeful moments, Peter had to admit he never thought they'd actually do it.

Fury spoke up next. "Is that all true, Hill?"

"Yes, sir," said Maria. "I saw it."

"As did I," said T'challa. "There were lights in the sky, in a spiral pattern, like a force field. When we said we were trapped in a snow globe, that wasn't too far off."

"More importantly," added Maria, "there's a barrier at the edge of the lake. It's pretty solid, but it responds to force. We can break through."

Fury nodded thoughtfully.

"And sir, there's something else," said Maria. "We saw . . . things, on the lake. Creatures made of mist. It was like those shadow creatures here. When they touch you, it forces you to relive your worst memories."

"Oh, we've noticed that," said Fury darkly.

Quill started to say, "We're gonna need a bigger boat--" But Gamora shook her head at him and muttered, "Don't."

Then it was Peter's turn to explain the discovery they'd made back here: Shuri's message. T'challa's face changed at hearing his sister's name. He rushed to the juke box and bent down over it.

"Have you found a way to answer her yet?" he asked.

"Not yet," said Peter. "Rigging this thing to receive an incoming message was kind of a miracle. Sending one _back_ is even harder. But I'm not giving up," he said quickly, seeing the fervent hope on T'challa's face.

T'challa pulled up a chair and coaxed Peter into telling him which wires to pull to change the frequency, which was what Peter had been doing tirelessly for the past . . . well, he'd lost count of the hours by now. He'd been putting out the message, "Come in, come in. This is a response to your call for survivors of the Infinity Gauntlet. We are alive." Over and over, for as long as it took.

Peter rubbed his eyes. His vision was starting to blur.

"Let me take over for awhile," said T'challa.

"What? Oh--no, I've got it, thanks."

"When did you last sleep?"

Peter shook his head. "Can't sleep. Not here." He didn't add that he was half afraid he wouldn't wake up again.

"You need rest, Peter," said T'challa. "And, I wish to speak with my sister."

"Oh. That's. . . Yeah, okay."

"If she makes contact, I will be sure alert you." T'challa nodded towards one of the long benches in front of the bowling lanes. "Go."

Peter stood up shakily, gave T'challa instructions for how to change the frequency, and staggered away. He'd lie down, but that was all. If he did sleep, he knew he'd dream about dissolving into dust in Mr. Stark's arms. Even if they survived somehow, he wasn't sure he'd ever sleep again.


	16. Chapter 16

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What Bucky sees when the shadows touch him is different from what everyone else sees. Also, Peter Parker has a breakthrough.

The night watch on the roof was surprisingly quiet. No shadows gathering in the distance, no rumble of thunder or strange lights in the sky, no Sentries buzzing at the borders of the broken down town square. It had stopped changing from night to day altogether. The sky stayed a muddled gray, like a constant twilight.

Wanda didn't trust it.

This quiet felt too much like the calm before a storm. And after their last storm, she wasn't sure she could handle another one. Especially now that they were so close to finding a way home. Hope was a sharp, fragile thing for Wanda. Every time her life had gotten better, some disaster had crept on her almost before she could savor it. There was no way this monster-filled prison would let them leave without a fight.

The door to the stairwell opened. It was Bucky. He nodded at her cordially.

"Want some company?" he asked.

She should've been frightened. She should've been more cautious and sent him away. But she didn't. She nodded quietly, and let him pull up a chair next to her. For a long time, neither of them spoke. The silence didn't feel strained or awkward, though. It was . . . restful. Easy.

Eventually, Wanda said, "Looks like we might be going home after all."

"Yeah, maybe." He had a flat, faraway look when he said it, echoing Wanda's own skepticism. But there was something else there, too.

"Are you okay?" asked Wanda.

He glanced at her with a question in his eyes.

"I saw the shadows touch you. But you didn't--"

"Oh. No, I uh. I'm fine, more or less."

That wasn't really what she was asking, and they both knew it. _What did you see?_ she wanted to say. If only she could get inside his head. She could fight now, thanks to Gamora, but she wanted her abilities back.

"Are _you_ okay?" asked Bucky.

She almost said, "Sure, more or less," like he'd done, but her tongue stuck in her mouth. Anyone else here, she could've put on a brave face and lied. Not him. Having him here was like having a piece of Steve with her, and he would've wanted the truth. She would've trusted him with the truth. "I saw Lagos," she said. "And Sokovia. And all the rest of them. Their faces, I. . ." Saying it almost brought the visions back. She breathed. "It was awful. It knocked me down. How did you just shake it off like that? Why didn't you see anything?"

"I always see them, _lisichka._ "

"What do you--"

"Always."

Oh. _Oh._ God, how terrible. Here she was, traumatized by a tragedy that was her fault, but still an accident, and he'd been living with similar crimes and worse for decades. Far longer than any human should've lived, let alone lived with that amount of guilt. Even Loki hadn't stayed standing on the roof that first night. Bucky was different. He couldn't turn it off.

He sighed. "You know," he said, "I always knew I'd die fighting next to Steve Rogers. I just never pictured it like this."

Monsters made of smoke and darkness, shifting timelines, an invisible barrier at the edge of a lake--Wanda wouldn't have pictured it either. There was something else, too: she thought she'd be done fighting by now. The fact that they still had enemies here was absurd, not to mention completely unfair. She pulled her feet up onto the edge of her seat and hugged her knees under her chin.

"Is it bad that I wish Steve was here?" she said.

Bucky smiled. "I miss him too." But after a few moments, that faraway look crept back into his face. "I saw him," he said. "That's what it showed me. Steve's face, when we were. . . When it happened. I watched him watch me die. I didn't even get to tell him. . ." He trailed off, and cleared his throat. "Guess it doesn't matter now. I'm just tired of letting him down."

He hadn't let Steve down. Wanda had been in his head. There were only good things in there when it came to Bucky. A bit of sadness maybe, and anger towards Hydra. But it was hard to believe the good side others swear they saw in you. Wanda understood that all too well. She understood something else too: Bucky didn't _want_ to go back. As horrible as this place was, it was better than the waiting and wondering. He couldn't hurt anyone here.

"You didn't let anyone down," she said. "I used to be one of the bad guys, too. Steve took a chance on me. I've tried to do my best, but I think it'll always feel like it's not enough. Much as he tells me different, it's hard to see myself as more than one of Hydra's broken toys."

Bucky shook his head. "You're not broken, Wanda."

"In that case, neither are you."

She was on the point of telling him more--how much he'd come to mean to her out here, how close she came to losing her mind except for him, and Gamora, keeping her steady. He was watching her, his brow furrowed with curiosity, waiting for her to say more. But then the door crashed open again.

"Oh good, you're here!" It was Peter. He came running over to Bucky. "Listen, can you come help us haul the jukebox up to the roof?"

"Uh," said Bucky. "Sure, of course. Why?"

"I know what I missed. I know how to boost the signal. Come on!"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm thinking of removing the Wanda/Bucky tag on this story. It's turning out more friend-shippy than shippy and I don't want to confuse people. I'm still determined to write a Winter Witch story sometime, but it isn't going to be this one. Sorry about that! :(


	17. Chapter 17

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Peter has a plan. To the rooftop!

"If we get back," said Quill, stretching his legs out in front of him and cracking open a beer, "I'm buying Rocket a drink. Make that several drinks." He took a swig. "Rocket's still alive, isn't he?"

"Is he the furry little tank who tried to take my arm?" said Bucky.

Quill laughed. "Yeah, that's him."

"When _I_ get back, I'm taking Aunt May out to breakfast," said Peter. "Well. . . Maybe I can just make her breakfast, since I don't have any money."

Bucky and Quill had done the heavy lifting to get the jukebox up to the roof. Now, Peter and Dr. Strange were hooking up a tangle of cords and wires to run the power from an extension cord downstairs. That was what Peter had realized midway through his not-sleep earlier: that last attack hadn't been just an array of monsters, but a storm. A high-voltage electrical storm. It had sent a surge through the machine that, briefly, boosted the signal and almost made a connection to the other side. If he could just replicate it, he might actually make contact.

The only problem was they had to all cluster in one place for it to work. They needed to draw all the power in the storm, and take the hit.

When Peter explained all this, Quill had immediately put his hand up and said, "Um, not to be a downer or anything, but this sounds like an extremely bad idea."

He wasn't the only one.

"As bad as I want to get home," said Fury, "this is a suicide mission. We can't pretend we're indestructible here. Those things can knock us all out cold."

"In fairness, they can't actually kill us," said Loki. "And even if they could, we've survived death already, some of us more than once."

"If you count being stuck in this hell hole as 'surviving,'" said Quill. "Sorry, kid, but this is a big gamble."

"He's right," said Gamora.

"Yes--thank you!'

"No, _he's_ right." Gamora clarified, pointing at Peter. "Sure, it's risky, but it's the best shot we have."

Everyone, including Peter, was stunned into silence for a moment at that.

"Speaking just logistically," said Maria Hill, "we still have a problem if this plan works. Assuming drawing all the fire into one place generates enough energy to get the connection you want, who's going to be here to send it through? If we all get knocked out, who operates the machine?"

"I can," said T'challa immediately. "My suit's designed to absorb kinetic energy. The shadows haven't affected me so far. I can take the hit without falling."

"That's a pretty big hit," said Fury.

"I can take it. At least, I can try. As Gamora said, it is our best shot. I believe we should take it."

So, up they went. Loki, T'challa, and Maria worked on drawing a map from their location to the edge of the lake, with Heimdall scanning the horizon to check the distance. Dr. Strange helped Peter with some calculations. The rest of them just tried to keep calm however they could. For most, that seemed to mean speculating about what they'd do when they got back.

"I will have a lot to handle," said T'challa. "The boundaries around Wakanda were destroyed. If we can even redraw them, that will take time, and a lot of planning. If not. . . Well, I'll deal with 'if not' when the time comes." He looked up from the map, partially completed now. "What about you, Prince of Asgard? What will you do when we leave this place?"

Loki shook his head. "I'm not sure. Find my brother, I suppose. I have a promise to keep."

Peter didn't say so out loud, but getting in touch with Shuri was only half the equation. They needed to reach her to make sure that when they left this place, they ended up back where they belonged, and not in the middle of a black hole or something. Triangulating Shuri's signal would give them a heading, but before they did that, they had to break through that barrier out by the lake. He had no idea how they were going to do that. Peter tried not to think about it. He just kept his head down and kept connecting wires and adjusting the frequency.

After some time passed--maybe minutes, maybe hours--Heimdall drew his sword. "Here they come," he said. "Are you ready?"

Peter looked up. The clouds were thickening overhead, and crackling with distant lightning. Peter swallowed. He hadn't been outside during the attacks yet. The air smelled like stale ozone. A hush had descended over the rooftop. All their hopeful chatter dissolved instantly.

"Peter?" asked Gamora.

"Um. Yeah, I think so."

"We're putting a lot of faith into this plan of yours, Parker," said Fury. "You need to do better than 'I think so.'"

Peter nodded firmly. "Yes. I'm ready, we can do this. I just, I need more power. That's why we're here, right?"

The clouds were getting darker and heavier. The lower air pressure made his head ache. Dim shapes reached down from the cloud formation.

"There's more of them," said Quill. "Even more than last time."

"That's the plan, right?" said Gamora. She set her jaw and drew her sword.

It wouldn't be long now. Oh god. Peter squatted next to the juke box, trying not to let his fear show.

Wanda crouched next to him for a moment. "It's like falling through your memories," she said quietly. "Like a nightmare that scrolls through everything you've done wrong. It's awful, but it doesn't last. And Loki's right: it won't kill you."

Peter couldn't look at her, but he nodded. "Okay."

"We'll all be here when you wake up."

"I know."

He didn't want to sleep again, but Wanda was only trying to help. Whatever happened next, it would definitely happen quickly. The clouds barreled downward. Branches of electricity shot in wide, menacing arcs. They barely had time to react. Peter was still trying to blink away the after image of the lightning when the rain started to fall. That's what it felt like at first: just rain. Rain that stung and bit and burned.

Wanda sprang to the edge of the roof, drawing her machete as she went. "Gamora!"

"I see them!" Gamora answered.

"See what?" Peter stared down at the ground where the two women were watching, but he never heard them answer, or discovered what they were looking at. The plan was working all too quickly. A heavy shaft of lightning slammed into the roof. The sky ignited pure, hot white. Peter threw his hands up over his face to shield his eyes. Someone was yelling his name. Then, there was nothing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello! Sometimes putting the next chapter together is easy, but sometimes it's like pulling teeth. I do not know what it is. Hoping to not have such a large gap between posts for the next one.


End file.
